Remus Lupin x afab!reader who is Remus' first time [591 words]
prompt: "(I know this post was forever ago but I love it lol) I lowkey want a fic of Remus's first time. He'd be so gentle, and I 100% agree with you when talking about how he'd constantly be checking on you" - anon on @lexxxrated
CW: fem!reader, p in v smut, mature, explicit sexual content, loss of virginity, Remus being fucking lovely as usual
“That’s right, baby. Nice and slow, y-yeah, just… like that.” You sigh as Remus finally bottoms out; his entire form tense from his fingers to his toes as he hovers over you, pausing to allow the two of you to adjust.
“Is this okay?” He manages to let out; words coming out in a string all from one breath. You’re quickly nodding.
“Yes, yes. More than okay.” You agree, running your hands up and down his arms that are bracketed on either side of your head, hoping to alleviate some of the tension radiating off of him. “You’re alright, you’re great - doing great. You can move when you're ready.”
He lets out a puff of air as his eyes jump between both of yours as though ensuring you really mean it before he experimentally rolls his hips, eliciting a groan from the both of you.
“Holy shit.” He whispers, movements stuttering only once before he manages to do it again, the thick length of him dragging in and out of you in slow, tantalizing strokes.
“Yeah holy shit. Merlin’s fucking beard, Remus; are you sure this is your first time?”
He manages to laugh at that, though it quickly turns into a pleased groan as he gathers some confidence in his movements and aims impossibly deeper into you, shifting his weight onto one arm so he could brush gentle fingers over one of your pert nipples before his hand continued down to your waist.
“Still okay?” He asks as he finds a rhythm, and it takes you more effort than you’re willing to admit to give him some sort of response that isn’t just a pathetic mewl.
“Fuck, fuck. Yes. Oh my gods.”
“Fuck you feel amazing.” He grunts before lowering his head to your chest to take one nipple into your mouth as he fiddles with the other, all the while looking up at you with eyes that you knew were just asking if this was ‘still okay?’
You think you must have done something that answered his unspoken question because his eyes left yours in order to devote all of his attention to your breasts as his free hand made its way to the place where your bodies were connecting over and over again.
There was some, vague part of you that was aware you were supposed to be making sure this was good for Remus, too. Especially seeing as this was his first time. The two of you had fooled around plenty before, but hadn’t managed to go all the way. But the broken, pleased sounds escaping him alleviated any concern that he wasn’t thoroughly enjoying himself.
You wondered then if he was lying about this being his first time by the way two of his fingers expertly circled your clit as he rose from your chest, releasing one of your breasts from his mouth with a pop.
“Of course you’d be bloody good at this too, you fucking bastard.” You pant, back arching off of the mattress below you when he manages to find the spot inside you that had you seeing stars.
Remus’ chuckle fanned across your damp chest, eliciting a layer of goosebumps as you let out a cry of pleasure. “Guess that means I don’t have to ask if this is-”
“It’s still bloody okay, don’t you fucking stop.”
And like the bloody swot, brilliant student, wonderful boyfriend, quick fucking learner he is, he didn’t fucking stop; he wouldn’t dare, not when you looked so ethereal below him as the two of you took each other apart.
What about the boys (established relationship) being needy over reader?? Like something she does or says or wears.
ooooooooof good one babes
okay, mature content ahead: viewer discretion is advised
James:
you come down the stairs to the Gryffindor party looking like that
certified simp, there would be no question what was going through his mind when he get's needy like this
glassy eyes just ogling you
following you around like a lost puppy - his friends would joke that you had him on some invisible leash
probably has a hand on you at all times
I see him getting a little whiny: "can we go now?" "the party's almost over, right?" "they won't miss us for a few minutes?"
whatever ends up happening afterwards is rushed and frantic - it's very obvious how absolutely desperate he was for you
Sirius:
you come down the stairs to the Gryffindor party looking like that
I don't think he lets you make a full round of the party before he's pulling you up to his dorm and locking the door
"Siri! I was talking to Emmeline!"
He'd scoff at you as he started shedding his clothes. "You come down stairs looking like that and expect me not to want to jump your bones immediately? Fuck, look at you; who even gave you permission to look this good, huh?"
idk about you but that sentence alone would have me in a puddle
ravishes you - you both look like a right mess afterwards
he takes about 30 seconds to revert back to his dishevelled rockstar appearance (which is so unfair because it took you a little longer to get ready tonight)
he dutifully helps you get redressed - the whole nine yards. Hair, makeup, outfit; though he makes sure some of the marks he's decorated your skin with are visible... "they compliment the ensemble, doll face"
Remus:
you come down the stairs to the Gryffindor party looking like that
he's got a good pokerface, but there'd be signs
he'd be a little quieter during conversations - most of his attention placed on you, one of his hands would be near his mouth as he played with his lips (like a nervous tick, almost like he really wants a cigarette right now)
but this man's M.O.? Get you feeling just as needy as he is
he would ask you to dance - and it'd be sinful: your back pressed up against his front as your hips sways in sync to the beat
his hands would be all over you: running up and down your thighs, slipping under the skirt of your dress, arms wrapping around your middle, gentle kisses pressed to your ears and neck
he'd have you so wound up and when you finally turn in his lap to ask him if he wanted to go upstairs, he'd smile at you and say "great idea, dove. I don't think they'll miss us for a little while."
get's exactly what he wanted and somehow it had been your idea
Regulus:
you come down the stairs to the Slytherin party looking like that
I think it would piss him off a little bit, quite frankly - how dare you come down stairs looking that good and acting like you weren't knocking the wind out of Regulus? (and likely every other partygoer there)
I think because he's feeling slightly jealous/a little peeved at you, he'd keep his distance at the party; but you would feel his eyes on you all night
his predatory gaze watching you as you navigate the party, sending threatening glares at anyone getting too close or was looking for too long
finally as the party is dying down, you're halfway through a conversation with Dorcas when you feel a looming presence behind you
"We're leaving." He says simply, taking your elbow and ushering you towards the dorm rooms.
you try to scold him for interrupting your conversation and rudely dragging you away from the party
he narrows his eyes and looks you up and down: "you don't get to show up to the party looking like sex on a stick and then berate me for finally getting you alone"
you smirk at him. "if you wanted me alone so bad, all you had to do was ask"
"Well, here I am." "I'm all yours, reg"
Barty:
you come down the stairs to the Slytherin party looking like that
your foot has barely hit the last step before you're hastily thrown over Barty's shoulder and he's running to his dorm room
"But Barty! The party!"
"Fuck the party! There are more important things to do."
you guys never make it back to the party - a shame too, you really liked that dress....the one that was since ripped off of your body and sat in a pile on the floor
"Don't worry treasure, I'll buy you 40 more of those dresses; though I can't promise they won't end up in the same state"
first orgasm EVER if i may, if you don't want to write it that's ok!!
i just thought it would be kewl haha
like sirius and remus showing you how sex should actually be? come on now how good is that BAHA
thanks for clarifying! so I decided to try and add a little something extra to it, and now that I have idk how I feel about it haha. BUT, I also wanted to point out two of Mae's fics: this Sirius one and this Remus one where they get reader off for her first time too
poly!wolfstar x afab!reader who they give her first orgasm+ [1.8k words]
CW: fem!reader, afab!reader, smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), first orgasm, squirting/female ejaculation, porn no plot - ok well maybe a little plot because I can't help myself with the jokes
You’re beginning to wonder if honesty really is the best policy seeing as your honesty is what ultimately found you here.
Here as in currently being taken apart by Remus and Sirius.
The three of you have been toeing this line of will they, won’t they – ridiculous, because of course you were – except now you’re not sure if you can.
Well, you can, but…
But, there was one part of sex you’ve never really been able to do. Not with a partner, and not with yourself.
And you figured – under the previously mentioned policy of honesty – giving the boys a heads up that you’ve never orgasmed before and to “not worry about me, just enjoy yourselves” was the right thing to do.
How wrong you’d been.
Wrong, because now you’re spread, prone, across the bed, both boys long having found their own releases as Remus and Sirius take turns on you; Remus feasting on you like a man starved and Sirius playing you like you’re a fiddle and he a master violinist.
And right now, it’s Sirius’ turn.
“That’s it.” He groans, though he manages to make it sound like he’s cheering you on for something despite the fact that he’s the one doing all the work. “Just like that, baby.”
You figure that you must be doing something right, because Remus hums in agreement as he rolls one of your pert nipples between his thumb and forefinger and sucks another mark into your neck.
You have half a mind of being embarrassed by the down right filthy sounds emanating from between your thighs right now but you can’t find it in you as Sirius gets a second wind and fucks his fingers into your cunt with renewed vigour.
He puts his entire upper body into it; each time he pulls two of his fingers out of your drenched core, he drags the pads of his fingers along the restart switch inside of you that has you begging for more, only to deliver exactly that as he shoves his fingers back in, the heel of his palm slamming down onto your clit before he repeats. Each thrust nearly lifts your hips clean off of the bed over, and over, and over again.
Other than the very clear sounds of your undeniable pleasure are the desperate breaths punching out of you and the pleased murmurings of both men.
And you decide that it’s too much; it’s entirely too much.
“Wait, wait. Stop.” You beg, chest heaving as you circle Remus’ wrist between your fingers even though his fingers aren’t the ones threatening to have you writhing right off of the bed. Regardless, they both stop immediately.
“What is it?” Sirius asks breathlessly at the same time Remus murmurs “you alright?”
“I can’t do it.” You explain unhelpfully; eyes pinched shut as you turn your face to the side in hopes of hiding in Remus’ side.
“What can’t you do, dove?” He asks gently, allowing you to hide but pushing some sweaty hairs off of your forehead.
“S’too much.”
“In a bad way?” Sirius draws out, then, apparently a sodding mind reader as he gently drags his middle and ring finger out of your cunt, movements tantalizingly slow before he’s pressing them back in again. You feel a bead of moisture escape from his fingers and roll down the swell of your arse onto the bed below you.
You keen, forcing your head further into the mattress and baring more of your neck for Remus who chuckles from above you.
“Is it too much in a bad way?” Remus presses again, ending the question with your name that sounds more like a prayer than a noun, his gentle fingers tapping your jaw in a silent ask to open your eyes.
You do, finding his cheeks still pink from excitement and exertion, his pupils blown wide as he looks down at you from above.
“No, I- no, I just-”
“You trusted us to get you off, yeah?” Sirius croons then, keeping his (what you can only assume are) pruney fingers in their current position as he kneels on the end of the bed to kiss his way up from your hip to your jaw. “You gonna let me finish what I started here, doll?”
“I can’t.”
“You can.” He whispers, nipping at a likely darkening spot on your neck that Remus had been dedicating an awful lot of his time on moments before. “I know you can, I believe in you.”
You let out a sound half way between a sob and a groan.
“Sirius knows what he’s doing, dove; let him take care of you.”
You must look a right state because Sirius actually makes a pitiful sound and Remus looks like he might genuinely feel kind of sorry for you.
“You’re so close, baby. If you want to stop, we’ll stop; but you’re doing so well.” Sirius insists, building up a gentle rhythm inside of you again as though his words aren’t already convincing you. “Maybe you need Remus to distract you, hm?”
Remus’ hand that had been working your breasts brushes down to your hip as he leans in, licking into your mouth until you were being all but consumed by him.
Sirius presses his thumb down onto your clit and you receive the message, relaxing under Remus as he deepens the kiss; you can still taste yourself on his tongue as Sirius lowers himself down and pulls your clit into his mouth causing you to buck up into him.
He removes his mouth all too quickly, a pleased sound leaving him as he begins building up his pace again, the excitement renewed with your thighs tightening in response.
Sirius’ vigorous pace is a stark contrast from the slow, lazy swipes of Remus’ tongue in your mouth; your head is misfiring, leaving you feeling as though you might cry.
“Just like that, baby; fuck you’re perfect.” Sirius hisses from somewhere below you; Remus groans into your kiss in agreement. “Relax doll, let it happen; I’ve got you.”
You can’t kiss Remus anymore but he doesn’t pull away from you, letting you breathe into his open mouth; your vision spots as your legs shake, the invisible string inside you pulling tighter and tighter and tighter until it finally snaps and sends you over the edge.
“Fuck yes!” Sirius cheers, forcing Remus’ face away from yours.
You’re quite sure you don’t black out, but one moment you feel like every nerve in your body is firing at the same time – a head-to-toe flush making you hot all over – and the next moment you hear Remus chuckling almost disbelievingly; his breaths causing a layer of goosebumps to spread along your chest.
“Christ, you’re fucking incredible.” Sirius laughs – equal parts disbelieving and proud – before pressing a kiss to your hip bone as he gently slips his hand from between your thighs.
You’re about to make a comment about how you really hardly did anything but the words die on your lips as Sirius shakes off his hand which leaves a number of droplets along your legs in its wake.
“Bloody hell; you give Sirius a bet and he doubles it.” Remus chuckles with a fond shake of his head.
“Did…I do that?” You ask then, sitting up to find the sheets quite a bit…wetter than you were expecting them to be.
“Uhm, correction:” Sirius counters haughtily “I did that.”
“I’d say that was at least a team effort.” Remus argues.
“What…the fuck?”
“Hey, you said you’d never come before, so I saw your orgasm and raised you…” his sentence ends with a flourish of his hands as if he’s saying ta-da!
“I-”
“You squirted, yeah.” Sirius cuts you off readily, nodding like an eager child who just found a few pounds under their pillow from the tooth fairy.
“Oh we are going to have so much fun with you.” Remus groans as he shoves his face back into your neck.
“Oh my God, I have to call Prongs.”
“Sirius!” You squeal in horror and Remus hollers scoldingly.
“No, you’re right,” Sirius agrees with neither of you in particular, “we should clean up first.”
“You two stay here.” Remus insists as he begins to extricate himself from the bed, pressing a fervent kiss to your lips before dotting a few more chaste yet no less passionate kisses across your face.
“You” he says to you, brushing his nose against yours “were fucking phenomenal, and you” he continues, standing to give Sirius a kiss of his own “worked very hard.”
As if Sirius needed any help, Remus’ comment sees the tattooed man’s chest puffing with pride as he smiles between the two of you.
“I’ll go run a bath and then I’ll start a load of laundry when the two of you hop in.”
“But-”
“No, no, shhh.” Sirius starts on you immediately, climbing onto the bed to hold his clean hand over your mouth. “He’s going to spoil us rotten for the rest of the night, doll. Not that we don’t deserve it, what with the performance of a lifetime we just gave him.”
This surprises a laugh out of you which has Sirius smiling as though he’s surprised that he managed to make you smile and simultaneously like making you laugh had been his plan all along.
“That was…”
“-incredible?”
“I was going to say insane.” You laugh again, eyelids feeling ridiculously heavy as you blink up at him.
“Well I’ll leave off you for tonight but we’re going to be doing that again as soon as possible.” Sirius promises, lowering himself into Remus’ previous spot on the bed and pulling your side into his chest; you’d roll over for him but you think he might’ve control-alt-deleted your bones.
“Doll?”
You turn your head to look at him. “Yeah?”
“I asked if you were alright.”
“Oh,” you laugh, embarrassed, “yeah. Yeah, I am. I really am.”
His mercurial eyes scan your face before he nods in agreement, apparently having sussed out whether you are being honest or not. “I’m glad…it was with us. Your first orgasm.”
There was something touchingly vulnerable in his tone and the way that his eyes seem to focus on a spot by your chin causing your heart to constrict in your chest.
“I’m glad it was with you guys, too.”
“I turn my back for a second and the two of you go sappy on me.” Remus grumbles in faux admonishment as he returns, though you can’t help but notice a pleased smile and a lingering blush still evident on his face that you get the sense has more to do with the current sentiment than any earlier activities.
“You’re not actually going to call James, are you?” You ask Sirius then; a concerning stretch of time between the end of your question and his abrupt “of course not, doll.”
You almost miss Remus’ snort and sarcastically muttered “Not tonight, at least.”
Hi!! I was wondering if you’d be interested in a part 2 to delicate bonds? I just think Cazriel was so sweet with reader in it! Maybe something small happens and reader wants to take care of one of the boys (maybe like a small training injury and the other boy is busy with work for Rhys for the day) and it ends with reader finally sleeping in the bed? Just a little idea lol!
Love what you’re doing with ACOTAR and as always no pressure just an idea! Mwah!
thanks for your request <3
poly!cazriel x fem!reader who can't help but help Cassian [2k words]
CW: reader is a workaholic, still reluctant reader [referenced fic can be found here], minor injury to Cass, quiet and loving manipulation of a situation, fluff
Cassian has a bit of a situation on his hands.
He supposes that technically Azriel does too, except the prick is on a mission and very much not here to help him solve this problem.
You see, you’re a bit of a workaholic.
And, listen, Cassian knows that’s rich coming from the likes of Illyrians who can hardly sit down long enough to warm up the seat beneath them, but even Rhysand has expressed concern about your current work-life balance.
“Can you do something, please?” Rhysand asked him earlier that day.
“What would you have me do, Rhys? I can hardly throw her over my shoulder and march her out of the library,” Cassian sneered in return.
His response was met with an incredulous brow and a smarmy once over. “Are those muscles just for show, brother?”
Cassian’s siphons flared indignantly causing Rhysand to sigh.
“Listen, I know she’s down there doing research for me, but she’s hardly taken a moment to eat or sleep or, like, breathe,” the High Lord explained tiredly, as though your over-working exhausted him. “I was sort of hoping that, you know… as her mate…”
Rhysand didn’t finish that thought, Cassian didn’t need him too.
While Cassian and Azriel have made some progress with you, you’ve been warming up to them at a glacial pace and Cassian hardly thinks he’s the one who will finally be successful in extricating you from the library.
Feyre’s already tried, Gwyn and Nesta too; what can Cassian possibly do that three females can’t?
Still, you’re his mate, and he’s yours, and he should—at least try to—take care of you.
If he’s unsuccessful, maybe Azriel will have more luck tonight once he’s back from his mission.
With a small prayer to the Mother, Cassian braves the library beneath the House of Wind and begs the Cauldron that you’re not currently bumping elbows with Bryaxis.
The Cauldron has some pity on Cassian, it seems, which finds him locating you on the very first floor.
You’re so engrossed in whatever you’re working on that you don’t notice Cassian’s approach despite the mating bond, despite the fact that he’s not exactly an easy male to miss, despite the way he nearly upends an entire stack of books with his wings on his way over.
“I’ve heard you’re due for a break,” he says as quietly as he can manage, wincing when he still manages to startle the ever loving shit out of you.
You close your eyes and take a deep breath, your hand rising to splay beneath your throat as you try to still your racing heart.
“You scared me,” is all you manage to say.
Cassian chuckles albeit apologetically. “I can see that. Sorry, sweetheart.”
“S’okay,” you manage as you roughly rub at your face as though trying to rouse yourself back into action. “Did you need something?”
Did Cassian need something? Uhm, yeah, for his gorgeous little mate to see the light for a few minutes or, you know, eat and sleep like a normal person.
“I was wondering if you had time to grab something to eat with me,” he settles on, raising a brow when you wince halfway through his sentence.
“I…I’m really quite busy,” you try carefully, gaze pointed at the spread of books and parchment across your table as though it might vanish should you lift your eyes from it.
“Yeah?” Cassian hums thoughtfully. “You’ve been at this for a while, right?”
You sigh. “I… guess, but, I really think I’m onto something here.”
“I’m sure you are, you’re a brilliant fae,” he allows, wishing beyond measure that Azriel was here to help; he’d be so much better at this right now. “You still need to eat, though.”
And just like that, whatever progress Cassian thought he was making with you vanishes, finding you rolling your eyes in frustration.
“Did Nesta send you?”
“What? No, I-”
“Because I told her I’m fine; I was already sitting when it happened and-” But whatever happened while you were sitting remains a mystery to Cassian when you fall silent, doing a double take before staring at the male with wide eyes.
“What happened?” you almost whisper.
What happened? What happened, indeed; you’re the one who stopped the story halfway through.
“What do you mean?” he asks instead of potentially starting a fight with you. You're a bit all over the place; whether that’s due to exhaustion, hunger, or stress, Cassian’s not entirely sure. He’s kind of afraid to find out.
“You’re hurt,” you explain, hand rising slightly from your side as though it itches to reach out but won’t commit to the action.
Honestly, Cassian almost laughs; he’d all but forgotten about the incident until you brought it up.
Gwyn’s face was priceless at sparring this morning after successfully landing a blow to Cassian’s cheek, immediately falling into hysterics over it.
The Illyrian eventually had to command the priestess to stop apologizing to him; she did exactly what she was supposed to do, and she did it well.
So well, in fact, that it managed to cut the skin and is producing a decent bruise.
It’ll be gone by tomorrow, maybe even later tonight if he soaks in a nice bath with healing salts.
He almost tells you as much until he realizes that your hand still hovers between the two of you, until he realizes that you’ve looked away from your workspace for the longest stretch of time in Cauldron knows how long.
Until he realizes that he might be onto something.
“Training incident,” Cassian explains with a put upon forlorn expression. Your brows furrow even deeper; a sign of his success.
“Does it hurt terribly?” you murmur then, leaning to the side in order to get a better look, hand still hovering—just begging to be held—though Cassian doesn’t dare take it in his yet; doesn’t dare shock you out of whatever trance his mottled skin has you under.
Truthfully, it doesn’t hurt at all. It hurt minutely when it happened—no one tell Gwyn or Rhysand, though; Gwyn will go on another apology tour and Rhysand will definitely laugh at him—and he long forgot it happened by the time he came looking for you.
He doesn’t tell you any of that.
“It has a heartbeat,” he lies, almost feeling bad about the small, pitiful sound you let out at that.
“Cassian…” you hum mournfully. “You should ice it.”
“Yeah?” he asks you, daring a small smile. “Az is usually in charge of that, but he’s out on a mission.”
Your chest falls at Cassian’s predicament but your hand finally rises, daring a delicate, barely there touch to the purpling skin under his eye.
He’s glad Azriel’s end of the bond is shut while the Shadowsinger works, Cassian’s almost embarrassed at the acrobatics his heart does in his chest at the show of affection.
“Can you help me, maybe?” he ventures then, words barely above a breath as your eyes trace his face.
Your hand stills on his face but doesn’t retreat.
“Please?” he doubles down. Honestly, Cassian’s not above getting on his knees and begging you if that’s what it takes.
You make a noncommittal sound, looking back over your shoulder at your work.
He speaks again before you can argue. “Clotho will make sure no one touches it,” he tells you quickly, winking over your head at the priestess who looks up from her book at the sound of her name.
Cassian doesn’t really give you a chance to reply let alone argue. He gently takes your hand in his larger one and starts leading you in the direction of the exit.
Rhysand must’ve been right; you must be exhausted. You’re completely listless as you let him guide you out of the library, you nearly fall asleep as he flies you up the the House of Wind, and you barely manage to hold the ice against Cassian’s cheek while he plies you with grapes and a few bites of cheese before finally collapsing in exhaustion on his and Azriel’s bed.
Surprise, Azriel’s shadows inform him as he trudges through the now dark and quiet home, the male having long missed dinner and saying goodnight to everyone before the House finally shut down for the evening.
Azriel’s fresh from a mission, which means he’s sore and tired and desperate for a wash and definitely not in the mood for his shadows’ secrecy.
Azriel does not want to be surprised, does not appreciate surprises; surprises in his line of work usually mean injury—or worse.
So, he’s tense as shit by the time he finally shoulders his way into his and Cassian’s shared room when he stills; first at the scent, and then at the sight.
You’re snuggled into Cassian’s side—your boots discarded on the floor near Azriel’s side of the bed—and dutifully tucked in under the covers as Cassian draws delicate lines up and down your upper arm with a loving finger.
Asleep.
Surprise! his shadows cheer again as they flee forwards to investigate his mates.
“What’s this?” he asks Cassian quietly as he shucks off his own boots and moves to perch on your his edge of the bed.
“Turns out you and our troublesome little mate have something in common,” Cassian taunts, pausing in his caress of you only for Azriel to draw a tender line of his own.
“Your stories can put both of us to sleep?” Azriel teases in return, smirking when Cassian flicks him before returning to his ministrations.
“She works too hard,” he explains pointedly. “Wouldn’t take a break. Feyre, Nesta, and Gwyn all tried; Rhys finally asked me to check on her.”
Hasn’t slept in twenty-seven hours, Azriel’s shadows fill him in. Stubborn girl.
“How’d you manage to convince her?” Azriel asks then as he brushes a few baby hairs from your hairline; you let out a shuddering sigh.
“Magic,” Cassian tells him.
He got hurt in training, his shadows tattle.
“Are you sure it’s not because of that shiner you’re sporting?” he supplies.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Cassian denies haughtily. “Although, you should probably expect a round of apologies from a certain priestess tomorrow for—quote—marring your poor mate’s face.”
Azriel huffs a laugh and feels his wings sinking behind him, beginning to relax at finally being home, at finally being reunited with the other pieces of his soul.
“Missed you,” Cassian murmurs then, continuing when Azriel responds with a pulse of warmth down the bond. “Mission was okay?”
“It was okay,” Azriel supplies noncomitally; he’s never been one to talk much about his missions, and finds the idea of discussing the dark reality of his line of work in your presence all that much more offensive.
The sound of water running steals Azriel’s attention and he watches a few of his shadows leave the attached bathroom.
He almost regrets wanting to bathe when sitting here in bed with both of his mates is the alternative.
“Go wash up,” Cassian encourages him, clearly clocking Azriel’s hesitation. “We’ll be here when you get back.”
Azriel sighs. “With my luck, I’ll get back and she’ll be on the couch again, or worse; in her room.”
Cassian snorts at the Shadowsinger’s petulance. “She barely stayed awake on the flight up here. Besides, I’m pretty sure she was about to tell me that she passed out in the library—I know, we’ll have to ask Nesta for more details—before I dragged her out of there.
“Trust me,” he explains easily. “She’s not going anywhere.”
Azriel relents, giving Cassian a quick peck and then pressing a much gentler one to your temple before making his way to the bathroom.
Azriel takes the world's quickest bath that evening and makes the executive decision that he and you will be taking the day off tomorrow.
Could you do poly marauders but Sirius and reader prank James and Remus by saying she is pregnant and then she finds out she is actually pregnant and they don't believe her straight away.
You don't have to if you don't want to.
Thank you ❤️
hi sweets! so I ended up changing this a litttllllee bit simply because I wasn't comfortable writing about joking re: pregnancy [just cuz it's a sensitive topic for many]. but I hope I did the rest of the request justice! <3
poly!marauders x fem!reader who is not pranking them right now [1.7k words]
CW: pregnancy tests, reader is pregnant, everyone is surprised but generally happy about the pregnancy
You supposed you shouldn’t be entirely surprised that this is how the boys would react; it probably did seem suspicious that this would come up now.
Now being that the four of you were in the middle of a sort of prank war.
No, not sort of, it was a full out prank war, no holds barred.
It had started when James and Remus convinced you and Sirius that the two of you had locked you all out of your flat, forcing Sirius (with James’ help) to have to shove you up the fire escape and crawl through the window, hauling Sirius up behind you only to find Remus sitting casually in his chair and James bursting through the front door laughing.
“That doesn’t even make sense, you guys.” Sirius grumbled as he used the bottom of his shirt to wipe sweat from his eyes and you swept cobwebs out of your hair. “James had to work just as hard as we did to get in.”
“No,” James countered, “I got to touch Y/N’s bum as we hoisted her up, and then got to watch your arms flex as you climbed up after her.”
Then, as retribution, you and Sirius took their phones and changed the name of every single one of their contacts to Dennis Quaid.
In retaliation, Remus and James taped fake spiders behind the lampshades, and one evening you’d been walking into the living room with a bowl of popcorn when Remus asked Sirius to turn the lamp on, resulting in an ear splitting screech from Sirius and a sea of popcorn littering the floor.
Cling wrap was added to the tops of shampoo bottles before the tops were recapped, causing more than a few shower meltdowns. The sugar for tea was replaced with salt. Blow up dolls were hidden behind doors. Furniture was moved several inches to the left. Picture frames throughout your home were replaced with images of Steve Buscemi.
It was fun, it was harmless, it was good natured. Did it result in Sirius shouting profanities after coming face to face with an inflatable clown? Sure. Did Remus spit his tea out and curse and mutter under his breath in Welsh when he had to go and make himself another cup? Yeah. Did James demand his mother prove to him that she wasn’t really Dennis Quaid by facetiming him? Absolutely, and the mischievous glint in Euphemia’s eyes was a prize in and of itself.
So while you didn’t necessarily blame them for being suspicious of you, you were a little insulted that they thought you would take it this far.
You’d been feeling extremely lethargic lately, and when that lethargy was followed by full body aches, you had chalked it up to an oncoming period. Except that period never came.
It never came.
But the two pink lines did.
“Oh my god…” You whispered, plastic in one hand as you covered your mouth in a silent gasp with the other. “Oh my god.” You repeated, slightly louder as you all but stumbled out of the ensuite into your bedroom.
“I know it was you, Sirius!” You heard Remus shout from down the hall.
“I swear to God, I didn’t touch the remote.” Sirius laughed.
“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” James' voice retorted, rising in volume as he made his way down the hall towards your shared room. “Angel, do you know where Sirius hid the remote?”
You were frozen in the middle of the room with your hand still covering your mouth as you stared down at the positive pregnancy test in your hand.
“Angel?” James asked quietly as he moved towards you. “Are you alright?”
A breath left your lips but you found that you couldn’t bring yourself to form an intelligent response.
Your view of the test quickly included James’ socked feet in front of yours and a gentle hand on your wrist so he could see what you were holding. “Wha-” he began, though fell silent when the fact that you were holding a pregnancy test was undeniable.
“Oh fuck, that’s a good one.” He let out with a breath, laughing as he backed away from you. “Fuckin’ hell, you almost had me there for a moment.”
“Nice try, Sirius!” He called as he exited your room, leaving you standing there with your mouth open and your heart in your stomach.
“Nice try, what?” You heard Sirius call back as you mindlessly followed James out of the room and towards the living room; limbs working on autopilot as your brain was reduced to a steady chant of oh my god oh my god ohmygod ohmygodohmygodohmy-
“What? Was the whole remote thing just a bit?” James chuckled as he reclaimed his spot on the love seat and Sirius’ brows furrowed where they were pointed down at the phone in his hand.
“A bit for what? And for the last time, I didn’t hide the remote.”
“So we still don’t know where the sodding remote is?” Remus grumbled as he stood from his chair and started moving all of the cushions again.
“Come on, spill; the jig is up.” James continued. “It didn’t work.”
“James.” You tried, but your throat was so tight that his name only came out as a silent whimper.
“What didn’t work?” Sirius asked again, finally looking up at James from his phone.
“The pregnancy test.” James replied, causing Remus to pause in his cushion wrangling to look at him in bemusement.
“Wh- what? What pregnancy test? What is he talking about?” Sirius rapid fired as he turned his gaze to you, standing from his seat but not making any moves to approach you.
Another helpless sound fell from your lips as you shrugged at Sirius helplessly; one hand still holding the test, the other hand still covering your mouth.
“Wait, what is going on?” Remus asked as he returned to his full height, James shaking his head in admonishment as he moved to stand beside him.
“These two think they’re so clever, pranking us with a pregnancy test.”
Remus let out a snort, but James’ explanation seemed to restart Sirius’ brain as he rushed over to you in two large strides before pulling your hand closer to him so he could read the test.
“Pregn- babe?” He barely managed to spit out, moving his gaze from the test to your face when you didn’t answer.
You shrugged helplessly at him again which seemed to tell him all he needed to know as he loosened his grip on your wrist, though he didn’t let go, before tracing soothing circles over your pulse point with his thumb.
“Did you splurge on acting lessons, Sirius? You look like you’re about to pass out.” Remus chuckled, though his face fell dramatically when you finally looked over at him with tears pooling in your eyes.
“Whoa, whoa whoa, hey, dovey. What’s going on?” He started as he moved across the room, James not far behind him.
“I-” You tried, but the next sound that left your lips was a sob.
“Oh, oh. Oh my god….oh my god, it’s not a prank at all, is it?” James whispered mostly to himself, though you shook your head at him anyways causing a few tears to finally fall from your lash line.
“Oh my god, angel, I’m so sorry, I- I can’t believe I laughed at you. Fuck, oh my god, I-”
The next thing you knew, the test was being plucked from your hand rather gently before it was passed to James to look at again, and Remus pulled both of your hands away from your body and wrapped them around himself.
“Sirius.” James whispered and when you turned to look, Sirius was leaning against James to get a better look at the test cradled in his hands. “Sirius, Sirius…”
Sirius let out an emotional laugh as he shoved his face into James’ shoulder, tears of his own falling down his cheeks as James wrapped one of his arms around his boyfriend and pulled him closer.
“Dovey.” Remus hissed as he took your face in his hands. “Is…is this real? Is- are you really pregnant?”
You nodded as you swallowed before finally finding your voice. “I…I think so. It looks like it.”
James let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob as he rubbed Sirius’ back roughly.
Remus laughed wetly and pressed more than a few kisses to your face.
“Oh my god.” Sirius laughed as he wiped tears away from his face. “I’m sorry they didn’t believe you, babe. That- oh my god.” He said as he pulled you from Remus’ grasp and into his. “You’re fucking phenomenal.”
“I haven’t even done anything yet.” You laughed into his shoulder as you watched Remus and James share a kiss behind him.
“Are you kidding? Fuck, oh my god… I can’t believe this.” He whispered as he pulled away from you, only far enough that he could place his hands on your waist and look at your not at all rounded belly.
“We almost missed hearing the best news of our lives over a remote.” James laughed from where he was tucked into Remus’ side.
“It’s on top of the refrigerator.” You sniffled.
“You bastards.” Remus groaned before he and James yanked you and Sirius over to join their hug.
“Wait.” James paused as he lifted his head to level you and Sirius with a look. “The remote was the prank, right? Not this?”
“Not this, Jamie.” You agreed quickly. “Not this.”
He let out a relieved sigh and looked close to tears again. “You just wait until we get you back.”
“No, you can’t prank me anymore; I’m pregnant and sensitive.” You whined, causing Sirius to bark a laugh, James to huff, and Remus to snort.
“Alright…” Remus offered as he narrowed his eyes at you playfully. “You’ve won this round.”
“I think we might have to call it a tie, Moons.” James whispered as you felt a loving hand settle on your stomach.
authors note: something small as I finish some request! I think I might make another part to this. Also reader is shorter than Remus, In my head remus is like 6'2 and the reader is very girly! probably some small grammar mistakes. ENJOY!
Remus considered himself a smart man.
He graduated top of his class and was well in the nicest term possible a nerd.
A nerd in academics that is.
Because in the real world , he really had no clue what was going on.
Once he had stepped into his new apartment he was very happy and pleased with himself… until he realized he didn’t know how to cook.
he could perhaps live off frozen tv dinners or his own cooking but he knew that he didn't have a hand for cooking. The first couple of weeks he miraculously survived off butter pasta ,chocolate and coffee.
What tormented him the most was not his horrible sleep schedule, but his neighbor.
You.
God he hated the fact that the apartment had thin walls, not because you were loud or anything but because you certainly knew how to cook.He could smell everything you cooked and baked. Every cookie and every steak. His stomach would rumble as he tried to read his book. He licked his lips as he smelled the sweet smell of cake as it overtook his apartment. He swallowed harshly when he could smell the amazing salmon you made that week. It wasn't fair that you were also very attractive to him. So now he didn't know how to cook and he had a crush on his neighbor that he had no clue how to talk to.
You on the other hand could not handle the sad dinners that your cute neighbor made, You could smell the sad frozen pizza smell and the days that Remus would get home and just groan loudly, each time you frowned. When you saw him walk out if his apartment one day he was in a rush. he had a piece of toast in his mouth as both if his arms were occupied with all kinds of books. You felt bad for you cute neighbor, and almost a little maternal towards him so you decided right then that morning that a trip to the grocery store where you 'accidentally' bought more than you needed then you would have to knock on his door and gift him the extra food you made.
So you made a big pan of Lasagna that honestly could feed ten people cut it in half, put in a cute Tupperware because of course everything you owned was cute.
Remus stomach grumbled as he tried to read Frankenstein, he could smell whatever you were making and it just reminded him of just how bare his fridge was. He sighed and put his book down. He thought about taking a nap but just then there was a soft knock on his door. He looked at the door in confusion because he had no visitors coming, James and Lily are busy with Harry and Sirius wasn't meant to come for another week. With curiosity he got up from his couch and headed towards his door, he swung it open ready to tell them that he was not interested in whatever product they were selling but to his surprise he saw you, well more like the top of your head because you happened to be shorter then him.
You looked up at him not realizing just how tall your tall neighbor actually was. His eyes widened in surprise and felt his mouth go dry.
"Hello" you spoke first, oh god your voice was as sweet as he imagined and he was sure he heard bells.
"Hi" he managed to say.
"I'm your next door neighbor and I accidentally made a lot of food um I was wondering if you would like some" You said as you held out the Tupperware for him. Remus looked at the Tupperware that held the delicious food he smelled as he tried to read.
"for me?" He said in awe to which you nodded.
"I just made a lot and I didn't want it to go to waste so I thought it would be nice to feed my neighbor" you explained and he grabbed the Tupperware from your hands, they brushed against each other.
"thank you love" he said in a soft tone, he didn't even realize the nickname had slipped from his lips as he was too busy looking at the food in awe. You who cooked this amazing food ( he knew it was amazing by the smell ) you who thought of him first out of all the neighbors in the apartment. You had chosen him.
You on the other hand did catch the name slip and felt your face heating up and all of a sudden it was hot outside even though you were wearing layers of clothing , never mind the fact that it was November.
Remus took his eyes off of the food and at you
"Would you like to come in?" he asked already opening the door for you to come in, to walk into the door for a new possible adventure.
james didn’t have a mean bone in his body, but he definitely hated that stupid fucking teddy bear of yours.
the cute little fluffy one, the one you’ve had since you were a child. he knew the thing meant a lot to you, but he just couldn’t help the immature rage and jealousy that filled him when he saw it.
you cuddled it to your chest every night, even when he was there. you should be cuddling him, not that thing!
when you two first started dating, you hid it, embarrassed that he would think it was weird or that you were childish for still keeping a childhood relic. you would hide it under pillows and bring it out only once he left.
but he found it, and at first he thought it was cute, you looked so sweet and cute and innocent. he loved it. then he noticed each time you would pull it out during movie nights, when you would pack it in your overnight bag when staying at his place, when you made him stop mid-thrust when he was deep inside you to pull the thing out from under you and prop it up against the pillows with a small pat to the head like some sort of king of the bed. his bed.
sure, the bear may be yours, but you were his and he doesn’t share.
so this time, he made absolutely sure that it knew its stupid place. he had both you and it pinned to the bed, the bear squished under your chest, your back arched and ass in the air, presented to him perfectly. he fucked you into the bed, that stupid bear finding out just who you belonged to.
he gripped your hips and thrust into you at such a fast, steady pace, knocking all the air from your lungs. he held you steady, nothing you could do except grip his navy sheets under you and cry out at the feeling of his cock hitting deep inside of you.
james laced his fingers in your hair and shoved your face further into the pillows. the only sounds filling the room were your muffled moans and the rhythmic plap! plap! plap! of his hips meeting your ass.
james's power trip along with your soft cries and whines were going straight to his cock. your squirming was not getting you anywhere, he pulled you back onto him, using you like you were a toy.
your thighs shook and pussy tightened around him, vise-like grip pulling him in deeper, orgasm washing over you. james continued on thrusting into you despite your unyielding grip on him, dragging his cock in and out of your dripping hole.
james wasn't far behind you, cock twitching before spilling into, coating your insides in white. pulling out and watching his seed drip out of you, falling down your thighs, he was quite pleased with himself.
leaving you momentarily to grab a cloth to clean you up with, he felt on top of the world. post sex high rushing through his veins and satisfaction that your teddy knew its place now.
he returned to find your already sleeping form, curled up against one of his pillows in a tight ball. you looked so angelic. your hair may be a mess and you may have mascara smeared down your cheeks, but you still looked like his cute girl.
james approached the bed, getting closer he realized you were curled around the fucking bear. he swore the stitched in smile was smirking extra at him. the glint in it's button eyes mocking him.
Hii! Could you do a consensual somnophilia rough dom Remus x reader. Overstimulation (reader trying to crawl away) and Remus putting more weight on her “ you can take it“ + Dirty talk with praise
It was a miracle Remus somehow got through the day without hurting someone.
He was on edge, entirely agitated and frustrated.
So when he saw you, his sweet, loving, beautiful girlfriend sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep, he could have fallen to his knees and thanked the heavens for giving him this opportunity.
You had fallen obviously asleep on the couch waiting for Remus to come home, tv still illuminating the otherwise dark living room. You were clad in pyjama shorts and one of his shirts, looking so comfortable and cute. So inviting.
On any other day he would have scooped you up in his arms and brought you to bed, but right now he was in no mood to be a gentle and considerate boyfriend. No, he was needing to be just the opposite, really.
He stalked up to where you rested, climbing onto the couch, spreading your legs and positioning you so that you were on your stomach. He bent one of your legs, making it easier for him to slot between.
You stirred slightly, making a noise of protest, but doing little to fight him off or turn back around.
Remus paused for a moment, making sure you were still blissfully asleep. When your breathing returned to its deep rhythm, he continued on.
He hooked his fingers under your shorts and pulled them down your thighs, sliding your panties right along with them. He removed the fabric from you entirely, throwing them somewhere behind him, and settled himself in between your bare thighs, taking in the sight of your glistening cunt on full display for him now. Almost like you were waiting to be fucked.
Your hips moved on their own accord, the feeling of the cool air hitting your core making you grind against nothing. Remus watched as you squirmed under him, your hole clenching around nothing and clit throbbing waiting for him to pay attention to them.
He quickly undid the button on his jeans, unzipping them and shoving them unceremoniously down his thighs, not bothering with kicking them off. His hard length raging, throbbing at the thought and sight of you.
He spit in his hand, bringing it down to coat himself, pumping a few times before lining up with your entrance.
He ran his tip through your folds, coating himself in your arousal before pushing in. Slowly, he slid in, inch by inch, until he bottomed out, your velvety walls gripping him like a vise.
He let out a breathy groan, his head thrown back, trying to restrain himself from fucking you fast and hard. He wanted this to last, he wanted you to stay asleep for as long as possible.
He looked down at your form, brows knit together and mouth slightly open in a silent moan, but still asleep nonetheless.
He pulled out slowly before thrusting back in, burying himself deep into you. He gripped your hip and rolled his hips along yours, his pace slow and deep. Your pussy gripping onto him like it was made just for him.
You let out a tiny, breathless moan. Remus glanced back at your face, your peaceful sleep still washed over you.
He tried not to groan as he felt himself hit your cervix, the outline of his dick no doubt leaving a visible imprint on your lower tummy. He was upset he couldn’t see it, see the result of his large cock fucking into you, but right now beggers couldn’t be choosers.
“Remus,” you sighed in your sleep. Remus chuckled to himself at the thought that you were probably thinking you were just having a wet dream right now, completely oblivious to the situation he created.
He thrust deeper, his hips snapping to yours. Not rough or fast, but precise, deliberate in giving you the most pleasure possible.
You stirred again, your thighs moving and eyes fluttering. Remus didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate when he heard your small whines.
“R-Remmy?” you asked, voice still coated in sleep. You gasped as Remus thrust particularly deep.
Remus could have cum right then, the cute, sleepy tone you used, the confusion washing over your features as you realized what was happening, as to why you were feeling so much pleasure in your dreams.
“Am I dreaming?” you panted, whines and moans falling from your lips and mixing with the obscene sounds of Remus fucking into you, the wet squelching and skin slapping.
Remus choked out a laugh, done with trying to be quiet for your sake. “Yeah, baby, just close your eyes, yeah?”
You gripped the couch below you. This was definitely not a dream, but it was a dream to wake up to.
You wiggled under him, his grip on your hip bruising as he using it as leverage to fuck you deep. You could feel him in the pit of your stomach, feel him actively rearranging your insides to make room for him.
You felt so overwhelmed, by just coming to consciousness and now on the brink of orgasm, it was all too much, you just needed a break.
You reached around and placed your hand on his lower stomach in attempt to get him to slow down. You pushed at him to no avail, he simply laughed and grabbed your wrist pinning it to your back as he continued on fucking you how he wanted.
You whined, kicking your legs and wiggling your hips out of his grasp. Your body fell limp against the sofa and you gulped down air, making use of this small respite.
Remus tutted behind you.
“Nah,” he said, gripping your hips again and pulling you back up. Your chest pressed to the couch and your ass in the air. He grabbed a throw pillow, stuffing it under your hips so you couldn’t run away again. “You were bein’ so good before for me baby,” he said, leaning down to kiss your temple, a thin layer of sweat coating your face and making strands stick to it. He lined himself back up behind you saying, “you were just layin’ there and taking it. Be a good girl for me again, yeah?”
He was buried in you in a split second, hips snapping to yours in a flash. You yelped, unable to move away, unable to take a break, the only thing you could do was lay there and take what he was giving you.
You cried out, pussy clenching down hard on Remus as he brought you right back to the tipping point.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he panted out behind you, “can feel you squeezin’ me. You wanna cum on my cock, love?”
Your body reacted for you, your cunt fluttering around his thick length. “Yes, yes,” you chanted, body being jolted forward by Remus.
Remus’s thrusts became sloppy, his breathing ragged as he pulled you up, your back now to his chest. He held you tight, one arm around your torso and the other still in place on your hip.
“Gonna fill this sweet little pussy up,” he spoke low in your ear, breath fanning down your neck. “Gonna feel me inside of you for days.”
He reached around your body, hand going straight between your legs, his fingers toying with your clit, applying just enough pressure for you to see stars.
You cried out, your head falling back onto his shoulder, toes curling as you came around him. Your orgasm rushed through you, making your thighs shake and the breath leave your lungs.
Remus placed a small kiss to your shoulder, his hips stuttering as he spilled into you. His seed filling every inch of you and cascading down your thighs onto the sofa. He kept rolling his hips into yours through both of your orgasms, savoring the moment and drawing it out as long as he could.
Remus held you against him as you both caught your breath, letting your bodies relax into each other.
You turned to Remus, craning your neck to look at him, placing a soft kiss to his lips. “Goodmorning,” you giggled against him.
summary: Poly!jeguliliy x Reader: you talk in your sleep which leads to some revelations about your partner's sleeping habits
word count: 700
CW: none, fluff, short
“Did you know you talk in your sleep?” Lily said, head propped in her hand, looking down at you and playing with your hair. You four had just woken up, still in bed before you started your day.
“Huh?” you asked, still tired and eyes heavy.
“You talk,” she said gently, “in your sleep.”
You scrunched your brows, you don’t remember ever talking in your sleep, but how would you? You were sleeping. “Do I really?” you asked.
She smiled, bright and beautiful, her skin glowing in the midmorning light seeping through your sheer bedroom curtains. “Yeah, last night when I came to bed, you were chattering away and when I asked you what you were doing up, you just kept on blabbing, mostly nonsense. I was so confused and scared that you hit your head or something because you weren't making any sense, but then I realized you weren’t fully awake. You turned over and fell right back asleep.” She explained, wrapping your hair around her fingers.
“Our little chatterbox.” James mumbled, finally speaking up, voice still gravelly from sleep.
“I'd take her chattering over your jerking.” Regulus said jokingly, propped up against the headboard.
“Pardon me?” James asked, looking up at the raven haired boy.
“You do tend to kick…” Lily admitted, adding to Regulus’s initial thought.
James paused, he blinked, his brain trying to think back to a time he ever kicked one of you. “I… what?”
“It’s true,” you spoke softly, “sometimes when you're really tired, you jerk your leg and it results in one of us getting kicked.”
James looked guilty, dragging your body close to his, hugging your form into his. “No.” He groaned, his voice sad.
“Baby it doesn't hurt. Just wakes us up a little.” Lily giggles. It was true, if anything it just shocks the three of you.
You and Regulus laughed along with Lily, James still feeling bad. Regulus took this opportunity to recall a memory of his own. “You know,” he said, “Sirius used to tell me that I used to sleep walk when I was little. He said he’d find me in random rooms in the mornings or that I'd crawl into bed with him, fully asleep.”
“Aw,” you cooed, imagining a tiny Regulus padding into his big brother’s room and climbing in bed. “that's so sweet.
“It wasn’t just when you were little, love.” Lily giggled again.
“What?” Regulus looked over at her, confused.
“You've done it here once or twice.” James explained, smiling and finally coming out of his hiding place you call your neck. "Caught you making tea in the kitchen once.”
A tinge of red arose on Regulus’s face. “I thought I'd outgrown that.” This caused you to smile as well, he was so cute when he was sweet and soft like this.
“Do I do anything weird in my sleep?” Lily asked, wanting to join in on the sleep story fun.
“Oh yeah.” James laughed, not elaborating.
“What is it!? It’s not weird or anything right?” Lily panicked, trying to get an answer out of one of you.
“Oh it is weird but we find it endearing.” Regulus smiles, still not answering her.
You were the one to take pity on her, rolling your eyes slightly and explaining her little quirk. “You, very slowly, reach out and touch our faces when you're asleep,” you giggled, seeing her confusion and disbelief, “like a sloth.”
The three of you had talked about her little sleep peculiarity before, finding it cute, like she was reaching out to make sure her loves were still next to her and alright.
“What?” Lily asked, still not believing you, your explanation a bit too strange.
“Yeah, it's like a slow, gentle slap.” James chuckled, making Regulus smirk right along with him.
“Oh,” she said meekly, "I'm sorry.”
“It's fine, baby.” James tutted, rolling onto his back and winking at Lily.
“We usually just catch your wrist and move your hand back. You’ll keep your hands to yourself for the rest of the night” Regulus explained.
She smiled back at her boys, still threading her fingers through your hair, making you feel more relaxed in this lazy morning.
“Well,” she spoke up, moving off the bed and making her way to your closet to start getting dressed. You whined in her absence, hair now feeling neglected. “Good thing you don’t snore, or else I would have to not so gently slap you.” She winked back before disappearing into the closet.
I thought this was so cute and Lily's sleep quirk is mine because for some reason if my mom or partner or a friend is sleeping over in my bed, i just reach out and touch their face like a little creep.
summary: Sir James Potter rides north on royal business and drinks too much wine. Medieval AU
warnings: alcohol / cursing / reader is referred to as lady / i think that’s it? / james potter can’t drink to save his life / you’re so mean / poor james / this is very game of thrones inspired /
note: this was gunna be one long oneshot but i’ve decided to split it into two parts because i am impatient i hope you like it love from marls xxxx
“I’ll have two pints, love. And a half for John.”
Ale splashed up your arms as you poured another round for the blacksmith’s son. It was a slow night at the inn; the men’s voices were low and quiet over the crackle of the hearth, and you had spent most of the evening pouring salt beneath the barrels of beer to stop them from icing over by tomorrow.
But you weren’t looking at your customer as you pulled beer from the taps. For the last two minutes, you’d been watching a lone figure sitting at the end of the bar.
He was filthy, like most things that came through the North, but his clothes were made of finer stuff than you had seen in a long time. His tunic was clearly red beneath the muck, and as you walked closer to him you could make out yellow lions that had been embroidered with golden thread. If you didn’t know any better you’d say he was—
“I’ll have wine and water, please.”
A southerner.
His accent was unmistakable. A lord, too, by the looks of it.
It wasn’t that unusual for Southern merchants to ride this far North, but you had never seen one this wealthy come alone.
They weren’t exactly the most popular around these parts.
“Certainly, my lord.” you said.
“I’m not a lord.” he replied, a little too quickly.
“Yes, you are.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are.”
He looked up at you, big brown eyes startling you slightly with their intensity. His face made him stand out even more than his clothes; tanned skin and handsome features a stark contrast to the brutal chill outside.
You poured him a horn of dark red wine. He took it silently.
“It won’t taste the same as the stuff you drink in the South,” you said, making no effort to hide the disdain in your voice.
He took a small sip, then a big one, before humming in approval.
“Tastes like honey. I like it.”
His calmness irked you. Usually Southerners would spit it out and leave.
“I’m really not a lord, you know.” he continued.
They didn’t usually talk this much, either.
“Oh?” you replied, pouring his glass of water. You put it down on the bar a little too aggressively, and it splashed up your wrist as you spoke: “What are you then?”
“I’m a knight.”
He had a proud grin on his face. You enjoyed watching it fall a little when you didn’t react.
Did he expect you to swoon, or something?
“You don’t look convinced,” he said.
You gestured to his red and gold tunic. “Only Lords can wear colours.”
“Ah.” he said, taking another sip. “So you’re mean and observational. I like it.”
“You know, some inns round here don’t serve your type at all–”
“Alright, alright!” He put his hands up in defense. “Let me explain,”
He took two more very large gulps of wine, wiping the ruby droplets from his chin, before continuing:
“You have to be born into the right house to be a Lord, and I wasn’t. But, my Father was given land for his generosity to the realm, which came with colours, which, I will admit, makes me look sort of lord-y…”
He was a chatty drunk, clearly.
“...but anyway, the point is I’m a knight. Definitely not a lord.”
You shrugged. “Still the poshest knight I ever heard speak.”
“If you think I’m posh, you should hear Sirius—”
Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You know The Black Prince?”
He slapped a hand over his mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that—“
And an over-sharer.
You laughed at the panicked expression on his face.
“Don’t worry.” you said. “He’s held in very high regard up here. Not like the rest of them.”
The royal house of Black was despised in the North. Long ago, there had been Northern Kings, but when the Blacks took power they had cut them off from gold until they had no choice but to bow down to the new Southern rulers.
It was said that Sirius was more forgiving than his ancestors. There had been hope that when he ascended the throne things would get better for the North. But whispers ran rife that the Queen intended on usurping the throne for her other son, Regulus.
“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “He’s a good man, Sirius. One of the best.”
“I hear he's brilliant in bed.”
He choked on his water.
“Where did you hear that?” he spluttered, trying cover up a coughing fit which was starting to draw stares from the regulars.
“Barmaids and whores make good friends.”
“Typical Sirius,” he croaked. “I come so far North no one can recognise me and I’m still within walking distance of a brothel he’s visited.”
“What are you doing so far North?” you asked.
“I’m really not supposed to talk about that.”
“I thought that knights were supposed to be honest.”
“We are honest!” he exclaimed, sounding genuinely offended. “We just— withhold the truth sometimes,”
“So you lie?”
He gave you a stern look, sliding the wine horn back towards you with a huff.
“I thought barmaids were meant to make you feel better,”
“Yes, yes we are.” you laughed. “Sorry.”
He looked at you expectantly.
“What do you want me to say?” you asked.
“I don’t know, ask me a question about my life, or something!”
“Like what?”
“You haven’t asked me what my name is.”
“Because I thought you were trying to be incognito—“
“—just ask me my name!”
You rolled your eyes. “Alright, what’s your name?”
“I am Sir James Potter, son of Fleamont, hand to Prince Sirius, son of Orion, and sworn protector of the four ancient realms.”
He’d puffed his chest out as he spoke, as though the words were literally filling him with pride.
“Feel any better?” you asked with raised eyebrows.
He exhaled, sitting a little more relaxed on his stool. “Yeah, actually. I do.”
“Good. That’s good. More wine?”
“Only if you tell me your name.”
“I don’t think customers are supposed to set the conditions for purchase–.”
“Eleanor?”
“What?”
“No,” he shook his head, “That’s a Southern name, can’t be. Maybe Mildred?’
You rolled your eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous,”
“Mary? Does it begin with an M? I feel like it begins with an M—”
“I’ll tell you what letter you end with if you don’t shut up.” you whisper shouted in annoyance, before finally giving in. “I’m Y/N. ”
“Y/N,’ he said slowly, as if he was testing the sounds out on his tongue for the first time. “Good name. Now, can I have some more wine please?”
It took about half an hour for you to come to the conclusion that James definitely didn’t drink very often.
His chin was resting on the palm of his right hand as he gazed wistfully at his third horn of wine.
“You should see me jousting, Y/N. God, I’m so good at jousting. I tried to get Sirius to give me a title for it when we were teenagers, you know, like—“
“Sir Lancelot?”
“Yeah, like him, but there’s already one of those, so—“
“Lancenot?”
He pouted. “You’re not being a very good listener.”
“Sorry,” you replied, before brushing a stray hair out of your eyes.
His expression became rather vacant all of a sudden, staring at the hair you’d just put behind your ear.
“You were saying?” you asked.
“Hm?”
“You tried to get Sirius to give you a title?”
“Oh, yeah,” he shook his head, as though he was coming out of a daze. “I was thinking,” he put his hands out for emphasis: “James the Magnificent,”
“Wow. Your modesty knows no bounds.”
“Trust me, if you saw me with my lance you’d understand what I was talking about.”
“That’s not a very honourable way to talk to a lady.”
His eyes went wide, “I didn’t mean—“
“I’m only joking. I’m not a lady, anyway. Just a barmaid.”
He studied you for a moment, tilting his head to the side.
“You look like a lady to me.”
You scoffed. “I’ve not brushed my hair for three days.”
He shrugged, finishing the last of his wine. “I think your hair is nice.”
You let out a laugh of mild disbelief, ignoring the way your stomach warmed at his words.
“I think you’re very drunk.”
“That is true,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I think you’re very pretty.”
Now it was your turn to go wide-eyed.
Who did he think he was?
Walking in and expecting you to be impressed with his stupid Southern titles, his charming smile, his big brown eyes –
Ah.
Shit.
“You’re blushing.”
Your eyes were fixed to the bar, but you could hear the smile in James’ teasing voice.
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are.”
“No I’m not.”
“Who’s the liar now?”
When you looked back up he was leant across the bar, face close enough that you could make out the brown freckles over his nose. He looked down at your lips, crinkling his eyebrows in fascination.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked, breath warm from the wine.
“James!”
“Actually, it’s Sir James Potter, son of Fle—“
“Alright, sod off with all your silly Southern names.” you laughed. “How about you come back tomorrow, and maybe I’ll let you kiss me.”
“But these are dangerous times!” he moaned, leaning back into his barstool. “I could be dead in a ditch tomorrow!”
“Well, you’ll have to stay alive then, won’t you?”
“Leave the pretty man alone and get us some bloody drinks, Y/N”
You jumped at the sound of the blacksmith’s son’s voice from the other end of the bar, wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead you hadn’t realised was there.
“You heard him, Y/N,” said James with mock seriousness. “Leave the pretty man alone and get to work.”
“I will throw this glass at you.”
“I don’t think kissing me will be very pleasant if there’s bits of glass in my face.”
“Get out, James,”
He got up from his stool rather inelegantly, reaching across the bar to pick up your hand and press a soft kiss to your fingers.
Summary: When James catches you swooning over a guy in your alchemy class he decides to make a move before it’s too late.
A/N: Blatching: Flying with the intent to collide with another player. Blagging: Grabbing an opponent's broom to slow them down. Also if your name is Julie no it isn’t. WC: 4.2k
James walks behind the group, listening to the marauders argue about where to sit during lunch
“Moons, our next match is in three weeks!” Sirius stresses. “We need to talk about strategies!”
“That’s precisely what practice is for.” Remus answers as they continue making their way to the great hall. “What better place to strategize?”
Sirius throws his head back, groaning in annoyance.
“Sorry Padfoot.” Remus apologizes halfheartedly, “But I really don’t want to spend lunch hour listening to you lot talk about blatching and blagging.”
“It’s Davie’s birthday today.” Peter chimes in. “His mum is sending a cake.”
“Pete, they serve cake every day.” James reminds him with a chuckle.
“Yeah, regular cake.” Peter clarifies. “This is a birthday cake, it’s a completely different thing.”
The infamous group of four enter the great hall and the conversation temporarily comes to a stop as they scan the Gryffindor table, weighing the odds of where to sit. James is about to let the other three decide when hears your voice cut through the chaos that is lunch hour.
“Are you mad?” You shriek.
James doesn’t know whether it’s out of shock or anger, but he’s determined to find out. He walks past his friends, not knowing or caring if they followed, and makes his way to where you were sitting.
“Hey ladies.” James greets with an easy smile as he reaches the table, watching in amusement as you try to hit Lily’s shoulder only for her to dodge it.
He gets a chorus of hello’s in return as the rest of the marauders join him.
“So who’s gone mad?” He asks, starting to serve himself food. “What are we talking about?”
“Perfect timing gentlemen!” Dorcas announces, clasping her hands together. “We were just in the middle of discussing Y/N’s-“
“Nothing!” You exclaim, cutting her off with a pointed look. “We were talking about my nothing.”
Dorcas holds her hands up in surrender, biting her lip as she lowers her gaze.
You let out a sigh of relief.
“We were talking about Y/N’s crush!” Dorcas squeals excitedly, unable to contain herself.
“Dorcas!” You whine, covering your face in embarrassment.
James, on the other hand, chokes on his water.
“Sorry?” He wheezes, hoping someone will elaborate.
“What? We were!” Dorcas defends.
“Yeah, but I didn’t wanna tell them!”
“Oi! That’s not fair, love. I always tell you about my crushes.” Sirius complains with a pout.
“I don’t ask you to. In fact I specifically ask you not to.” You deadpan. “Besides, it’s a different girl every day. Those aren’t crushes, those are conquests.”
“Pish posh.” Sirius waves you off, taking a bite of his chicken. “Now spill the beans. What’s his name?”
“Pads,” You sigh exasperatedly. “I really don’t want to-“
“Chris.” Marlene interrupts.
“From Ravenclaw?” Remus asks before nodding his head in approval.
“Ravenclaw?” Sirius repeats, brows furrowing as he tries to think before his eyes widen in realization. “Wait, you mean quidditch Chris?”
“The very one.” Lily confirms with a nod.
“Not to be weird, but he’s pretty cute.” Peter comments casually.
“Isn’t he?” You gush, covering your mouth with your hand. “Not just that but have you heard him laugh?”
You don’t give anyone at the table a chance to answer before you continue rambling.
“He like, closes his eyes when he laughs and it comes out high pitched? Which is odd because you know, he’s a guy so naturally he has a deep voice; but it suits him! It’s so…joyful. It’s soooo cute. But I think he’s kind of insecure about it because sometimes he’ll be laughing and like, he’ll catch himself and try to stop but even then he’ll still be giggling which is even cuter! And ughhh, what do I do?” You groan, covering your face with your hands.
“Have you told him?” Remus asks curiously.
“What? That I like his laugh? Of course I haven’t.” You shake your head.
“Why not?” Sirius chimes in.
“Because it’d be weird!”
“No it wouldn’t.” He assures. “It’s a compliment. Everyone loves being complimented.”
“But- I- What do I do?” You stammer. “Just walk into alchemy and announce to the whole class that I like his laugh? That’s mental!”
“Well, no.” Sirius rolls his eyes. “Obviously you’d talk to him first.”
“See that’s the thing, Padfoot…” Dorcas says.
“Talk to him?” You repeat, wide eyed. “Are you kidding me? I can’t talk to him!”
“Why not?”
“I’m shy…” You bashfully admit.
Everyone at the table erupts into laughter and you stubbornly cross your arms.
“Y/N, I’ve known you since first year.” Remus reminds you fondly. “I could think of a million words to describe you. Shy definitely isn’t one of them. Right, Prongs?”
James shoots Remus a subtle glare, rubbing his side where he’d been elbowed before turning his attention to you.
“Yeah! I mean, how hard can it really be? You’re not shy around me! You talk to me nonstop.” He nods happily.
“Wha- that’s totally different!” You argue. “I don’t like you!”
“Oh.” James says simply, caught off guard by the statement.
“Wait, wait, wait. That’s not what I meant.” You rush to explain. “Of course I like you.” You assure him. “But it’s totally different!”
“How’s it different?” James asks, tilting his head the tiniest bit.
“Well, I mean Chris is a man.” You shrug.
A few of your friends snicker in amusement and Peter’s jaw actually drops open.
“Wowwwww.” James complains.
“Way to make it worse.” Sirius teases.
“Oh, shut it.” You scold, tossing your balled up napkin at him.
“I’m a man.” James insists, voice cracking at the last syllable.
“Of course you’re a man, Prongs.” You assure, carefully thinking about your next words. “But you’re not my man… like, for me…”
This time Peter and Remus start snickering, finding James’ distraught expression and your struggle for words incredibly amusing.
“Not that I want you to be!”
“Ouch, love.” Sirius comments, thoroughly enjoying the show.
“What I’m trying to say is that it’s different!” You stress.
“How?” Peter asks curiously.
“It just is!”
“But how?” James presses, taking the ego hit personally. “We’re both on the quidditch team, we both have good marks-“
“I don’t understand why you’re comparing yourselves as if it’s some sort of competition.”
“Hear that, James?” Lily teases, joining in on the fun. “She said you’re not even in the competition.”
Sirius, Peter, and Remus all burst into laughter while James pouts pathetically.
“Awe, James.” You coo, cupping his face affectionately. “You’re cute.”
James smiles at the compliment, cheeks appearing smushed as you’re still gingerly holding his face in your hand.
“But Chris is a love interest! A possibility!” You clarify.
“As opposed to?” He asks.
“You.”
James gives you a deadpan look.
“Y/N?” Sirius calls.
“Yeah?”
“Stop talking.” He all but begs.
“Yeah…” You agree.
The professors announce that lunch is over and you all start to gather your books, preparing to head to your next class.
“Jokes aside, I love you James. You know I do. But it’s more of a platonic love.” You tell him as you all start to make your way out of the great hall. “I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with you, because there isn’t! It’s just-“
“I’m not a man.” James cuts you off, giving you a weak smile.
“Tosser.” You scold teasingly, pushing his shoulder lightly. “I’ll catch up with you guys later. Stay out of trouble.”
“We make no such promises!” Sirius calls after you as you turn the corner and disappear. Once you’re out of sight he turns his attention to James.
“That was painful.” He grimaces.
“You’re telling me.” James sighs, loosening his tie. “I felt as if I couldn’t breathe.”
“The girl you’ve fancied since the start of seventh year just spent all of lunch telling you how much she doesn’t like you, how are you still alive?”
“I dunno, mate.”
“I take it you're throwing in the towel, then?” Remus asks.
“Fuck no.”
“Then what?” Peter asks, looking up at him.
“I don’t know yet…” James tells them. “But gimme some time. I’ll think of something.”
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
James walks out of the bathroom, wiping his lenses on his pajama shirt when Peter calls out to him.
“Prongs, mail.”
James looks up excitedly, putting his glasses on and running across the room, grabbing the parcel.
“It’s quite thick. What is it?” He asks curiously, noting that it was bigger than a letter but smaller than a package.
James hastily rips open the envelope, holding the item up as if it were a trophy.
“Yes! Thank you dad!”
“What is it?” Sirius asks, tossing himself onto his bed. “A playboy?”
“No!” James immediately denies. “It’s just a magazine he’s subscribed to. I glanced at the cover when it arrived over break and asked him if he still had it.”
“Okay…” Sirius nods. “Why’d you want that specific issue?”
“Because- there’s an article I want to read.” James answers, quickly flipping through the pages. “Aha!”
Sirius, Remus, and Peter huddle around the magazine, wanting to see what the article’s about.
“Oh fuck off.” Sirius huffs, going back to his bed.
“You’re joking.” Remus says. “Right? You’re having a laugh?”
“Become the man of her dreams in 3 easy steps.” Peter reads aloud.
“Guys, at least give it a chance.” James defends, holding the magazine up. “They wouldn’t publish just anything.”
“Yeah they would.” Sirius says.
“It happens more often than you’d think.” Remus adds, putting on his robes as he prepares to do his rounds. “I’d say you’re better off chasing her shamelessly like you did Evans than following whatever that gossip column says.”
Peter and Sirius burst into laughter as Remus walks out the door.
“Yeah, alright. Laugh it up.” James remarks. “We’ll see who’s laughing when it works.”
“If it works.” Sirius warns.
“When it works.” James corrects. “It’s a new crush. What’s it been? A week? Less? I can totally steal her away from him.”
“Can you?” Peter asks, not looking up from his comic book. “Because she doesn’t even fancy you. At all. Remember?”
“Yes, Wormtail, I remember. I was there.” James nods.
“Why do you have to steal her anyway?” Sirius asks. “You’ve fancied her since the start of the year. You had months to make a move.”
“Can you guys keep it down?” James asks instead, drawing the curtains from his bed. “I’m trying to read and you’re kind of distracting me.”
“Sorry.” Peter apologizes.
“Wanker.” Sirius says childishly.
James sticks his hand out from behind the curtain and flicks him off.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
Step One: Put an effort into your appearance. Women do not want to date slobs. Just as women prim and pamper themselves daily, men too should take grooming seriously and put thought behind their outfits. Do note that doing too many changes at one time is cause for alarm as the female gaze is more observant. Instead one should spread out their changes through time.
Somehow James had gone the whole day without running into you once. He dejectedly walks back to the Gryffindor Tower after his rounds, thinking that he wasted time doing his hair for nothing, only to bump into you in the common room.
“Hey.” He greets, standing up straight. “You’re doing rounds tonight?”
“Yeah. I’m covering for someone.”
“Oh. Lame.” James nods, only for his eyes to widen when he realizes what he’s just said. “I mean, it’s lame that they bailed! Not that you’re doing rounds. That’s ni- that’s a nice thing for you to do. To take someone’s shift.”
You throw your head back in laughter and only then does James stop his rambling.
“No, you’re completely right. It is lame.” You nod. “But no one else was available.” You shrug.
“Well, I hope it goes quickly for you.”
You don’t acknowledge what he’s just said. You’re too busy analyzing his appearance to even think of answering him. The more you stare at him, the more uncomfortable he feels, smile dropping and feet shuffling as he finds it hard to keep still.
“Did you cut your hair?” You finally ask.
“Huh?”
“Your hair.” You reiterate. “You cut it?”
“N-no.” James shakes his head. “Just combed it.”
He shrugs before running his hand down the back of his head, hoping it casually draws attention to his neat hairdo. And it does. Gone are his wild, curly locks. Instead they’re neatly styled up and away from his face, giving him a sleek and polished look. With James no longer hiding behind his hair, his sharp features really stand out like his bright eyes and defined cheekbones.
James sees your eyes bouncing all over his face, taking in his features. He watches as you gaze at his new hair, then his eyes, then his lips?? Before bringing your gaze back up again.
Keep it cool, Prongs. He thinks to himself. Stay cool.
You have a slight furrow between your brows and your bottom lip is jutted out just slightly, a telltale sign that you’re thinking. James is starting to think that maybe the lads were right when finally, you nod.
“Looks good.” You say simply before heading out to do your rounds.
As soon as the coast is clear, James raises a hand in victory.
“Yes!” He whispers to himself before clearing his throat and straightening out his robes. He walks to the dorms with a bounce in his step.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
Since that night in the common room James has kept up the habit of styling his hair into a neat quiff. While at first he hated waking up early, he’s since gotten used to it. After that first night you didn’t mention his hair again, but he has noticed you staring at him quite often. This encourages James to start applying cologne as well. Not much, just a tiny spritz because “a little goes a long way, Prongs for fucks sake.”
He’s so lost in his head that he doesn’t even see you walk into class, snapping out of his spiraling only when you pull your seat out, your chair scraping against the cold dungeon floor.
“Good morning James,” You smile politely, taking a seat in your chair and then scooting forward.
James sits up straight in his seat and clears his throat before speaking.
“Morning.”
You smile sweetly at him again before turning your attention to your school bag, digging out your parchment and ink well. You look up a moment later with a focused stare and scan the room.
“You okay?” James asks, worried something might be wrong.
“Yeah.” You answer absentmindedly. “Just…” you trail off, continuing to scan the class.
“Just?” James repeats, hoping you’ll elaborate.
You lean across the aisle, closer to the classmate setup at the station to the right of you before returning to your seat with a frown.
“Y/n?” James asks.
You turn your head slightly towards him and take a small breath in. Then you turn your full attention to him.
“Are you wearing cologne?” You ask, completely ignoring his previous question.
“I uh- yeah.” He stammers. “My dad sent it to me…figured I might as well-”
“It smells good.” You cut him off.
“Y-yeah?” He asks.
You lean closer to him and take a deep breath while James holds his, freezing every muscle in his body, afraid to move even an inch.
“Yeah.” You answer, leaning back with a satisfied nod. “Really good. You should wear it more often.”
“Okay.” James says breathlessly.
At that moment Professor Slughorn walks in and he starts going over the lesson plan for the day.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
Step two: Establish romantic intent. Men are laid back and easy going by nature. While these are good features for making friends, it can also cause problems to arise when trying to court a woman. To avoid miscommunication it is important to act with thought and intent. Flirt boldly. Be direct. And use respectful, physical touch to create a romantic, rather than platonic, connection.
“Okay, Prongs. Time for phase two. Now, we flirt. You can do this. You’ve flirted before.” James says to himself, hyping himself up as he heads toward the Black Lake. Somehow you were both paired up for rounds, and he’s looking forward to being able to talk to you away from the watchful eyes of his very nosey friends.
The prefects from Hufflepuff informed you that they had already patrolled around the quidditch pitch, so you and James decided to start by the greenhouses and then go from there. He sees you standing at the edge of the Black Lake, quietly staring at the water. He’s just about to call out to you when he remembers what the article said.
Use teasing and humor. Use respectful, physical touch.
James quietly sneaks up behind you. When you least expect it, he grabs onto your upper arms and pushes you forward before pulling you back. You immediately scream, turning around and whacking him on the arm.
“Holy fuck! Are you crazy?”
“Crazy about you.” James immediately replies.
“This isn’t funny.” You whine. “I could’ve died.”
“Nooo.” James rebuffs with a shake of his head.
“What if I had fallen in?” You argue, crossing your arms.
“That never would’ve happened.” James says matter of factly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers.
“How are you so sure?” You ask skeptically.
James tilts his head to the side, before smiling softly, knowingly.
“Because I had you.” He shrugs simply. “When there’s something I want, I don’t let go.”
Your breath hitches at the quiet confession. You try to form some sort of reply but nothing comes out. Sensing this, James comes to a stop right in front of you, leaning forward slightly to match your height.
“I didn’t want to drop you, so I didn’t.” He says softly.
The weight of his confession is still there but James doesn’t push for an answer you don’t yet know yourself. Instead he gives you space, he gives you time. He gives you an out; and you take it.
“You scared me.” You admit with a shaky laugh.
“That was the point.” He answers truthfully, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips. “We’re gonna be out here until 1:30. I need you to be alert and awake.”
“What are you talking about? I’m always alert and awake when doing rounds.” You scoff.
“Mm.” James hums, turning on his heel and starting to head towards the greenhouses. “Are you, though? Because you didn’t even hear me coming up behind you just now.”
“That’s totally different.” You argue, hurrying to catch up to him.
“Suuuure.” James agrees sarcastically.
“No, really!” You continue. “That one doesn't count! I wasn’t ready.”
“Whatever you say, beautiful.”
The nickname throws you off. So much so that you don’t see the gopher hole up ahead. Your right foot slips right in and your lurch forward. You’re prepared to fall on your face, so you’re pleasantly surprised when James is by your side in an instant, hand wrapped around your waist to keep you upright.
“You alright?” He asks softly.
He’s so close that you can feel his breath on your face. It takes you a minute to get your bearings and give him an answer.
“Yeah.” You nod. “Good catch.”
James chuckles, taking a step back and nodding.
“I told you.” He says, watching fondly as you dig your foot out of the blasted gopher hole. “I don’t let go.”
You rotate your ankle slowly, and when you don’t feel any pain, you give him a thumbs up.
“See?” You huff. “Alert and awake.”
James snickers in amusement before clearing his throat.
“Very nice. Shall we go?”
“We shall.” You nod.
“Do you wanna hold onto me?” He asks, offering his arm to you. “Since you stumbling seems to be the pattern of tonight.”
“Oh! You-“ You slap his hand away and James laughs.
“One of them was your fault!”
“You were so scared.” He laughs, mimicking your terrified shriek before turning his head to look at you.
“Awe, come on. I’m just teasing.” He consoles when he sees you pouting. “It was cute.”
“Oh yes, I’m sure me screaming my head off was a sight to behold.” You snark before walking ahead, leaving him behind.
“You always are.” James says softly before hurrying to catch up.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
Step three: Show off your feathers. When courting a woman the most important thing is to not lose momentum. The second you become “comfortable” in your relationship you become friendzoned. While other men are being wishy washy and “playing it cool” it’s your time to strike. Just like a peacock, show your feathers and strut! Show her what you have to offer, who you are and what you can be!
“Y/N?”
“Hmm?” You look up and find Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas all staring at you.
“I asked about Chris.” Dorcas repeats with a smile. “You haven’t mentioned him in a while.”
“Yeah…” You trail off, finishing the sentence you were writing before putting your quill down. “That’s over.”
All three girls gasp.
“Why? What happened?” Marlene asks.
“Did he turn you down?” Lily asks, gripping her quill tighter.
“No, nothing like that.” You assure them. “I just don’t have a crush on him anymore.”
“Oh? That was sudden.” Lily comments.
“Mm, not really.” You shrug. “I didn’t really know anything about him.”
“You could’ve gotten to know him.” Marlene offers.
“Yeah…but I just didn’t want to.” You admit. “After some thought, I realized I wanted something with someone that I know. Someone who I’m comfortable with but makes my heart race at the same time. Someone who teases me one second but worries about me the next.”
“Wow. Sounds like you already have someone in mind.” Dorcas says.
You try and fail to hide your smile.
“Maaaybeee…” You tell them bashfully.
“Who?” Lily asks.
“Is it someone we know?” Marlene adds.
“Yeah, actually.” You nod. “It’s-“
“James!”
You all turn your heads to see some girl from Hufflepuff approaching James who stands a few meters away in the middle of the courtyard.
“Yeah?” He asks, looking at the girl confusedly.
“You know how the spring equinox is next week?” She asks, playing with a lock of her hair as she gazes at him.
“Yeah…” James repeats, still just confused as he was a moment ago.
“Go to the celebration with me?” She requests, getting straight to the point.
“Wow. Um…”
“Julie.” She supplies, thinking he was asking for her name.
“Julie.” James repeats. “I’m flattered…”
He scans the courtyard, trying to buy himself some time. His eyes pass over your figure before locking onto you once more. James looks quickly between you and Julie before returning his attention to her. He remembers the article and knows what he has to do.
Be direct. Avoid miscommunication. Show off your feathers.
James stands up straight and rolls his shoulders, releasing some of the tension he was feeling.
“I’m gonna have to pass.”
“What?” She says, dropping the piece of hair she was previously toying with.
“There’s someone I’m interested in.” James tells her. As if that wasn’t clear enough, he raises his hand and points a finger in your direction. “It’s actually that girl there.”
Several gasps are heard throughout the courtyard, your friends being the loudest. Still, that doesn’t deter James from his confession in the slightest.
Don’t be wishy washy, Prongs. He thinks to himself. It’s now or never.
“Her name’s Y/N and I've fancied her since the beginning of the year. I’m planning to ask her to be my date.”
James looks past Julie, locking eyes with you and smiling sheepishly.
“Though I guess it's not much of a secret anymore, huh?” He asks, taking slow steps towards you, almost as if he’s scared you’ll run away.
“Not really.” You shake your head, smiling softly as you stand from your seat and take a tiny step towards yourself.
“Confessing your feelings for someone in the middle of a packed courtyard is quite the opposite of a secret.” You inform him, very clearly poking fun as you take another step closer.
“Oh, ha ha.” James laughs sarcastically, though judging by his fond smile it’s obvious that he isn’t bothered in the slightest.
“Awe, come on. I’m just teasing.” You assure him. Repeating his own words from that night you had rounds together. “It was cute.”
“You’re cute.” James flirts back.
You cross your arms, staring at him skeptically.
“Last time I was beautiful. Now I’m cute. What’s with the demotion?”
James rolls his eyes with a huff but grabs your hands nonetheless.
“You are beautiful.” He confirms with a nod. “And cute.”
You beam at him.
“And I meant what I said.” James clarifies, leaving no room for doubt. “I really, really like you.”
“So do I.” You admit shyly, swinging your clasped hands.
James smiles at the confession before it turns into a mischievous grin.
“Really? Even though I’m not a man?”
It takes you a moment to register what he’s just said, and when you do, you can’t help but let out an incredulous laugh.
“Oh my gods. Are you serious right now?”
“What? I was just asking.” He manages to say in between giggles.
“You are so annoying.” You tell him, shaking your head.
“You love it.”
You roll your eyes with a smile because you know he’s right. Teasing and all, you do love being with James. And James smiles back at you because he’s just the same.
Aerion Targaryen X Reader
Summary: In which you're visiting your parents and your husband misses you
TW: ooc aerion probably he's whipped and lowkey a victim? he takes you throwing stuff at him as a love language
wc: 7K
GIF di elena-gilbert
Summerhall burned without her.
Not with dragonflame, not with the great conflagrations his ancestors had commanded, but with a dull, suffocating emptiness that crept into every corridor, every chamber, every breath Aerion Targaryen took. The hearths were lit, the servants moved in their endless silent procession, his brothers' voices echoed somewhere in the courtyard and yet the world had lost all color. The very stones of the castle seemed to sigh, as though they too mourned the absence of their lady.
She had been gone three days.
Three days since Y/N had ridden for King's Landing with her escort, off to visit her family, off to leave him behind in this grey mockery of a palace. Three days since the sun had last shone, or so it felt. Three days since Aerion had last tasted peace, last drawn a full breath, last felt his heart beat with anything other than the dull, persistent ache of longing.
He stood at the window of their chambers, his chambers now, though he refused to think of them that way, staring out at the rolling hills of the Reach with an expression of such profound tragedy that any who saw it might have thought the realm had fallen. His doublet was carelessly fastened, half untied at the collar, as though he could not summon the will to dress himself properly. A goblet of wine sat untouched on the table beside him, which was perhaps the most alarming sign of all, for Aerion Brightflame had never been known to refuse wine.
His boots were still unlaced. His rings, the gold and onyx band she had given him on their wedding night, the small ruby she had pressed into his palm with a smirk and a command to wear it always so everyone knows you belong to me, sat in a small dish by the bed. He could not bear to put them on. Could not bear to look at them without her there to see them on his fingers.
He had not slept. Not truly. He would lie in their bed, in the hollow where her body should have been, and press his face into her pillow, breathing in the fading scent of her, something floral, something sharp, something that was simply her. He had forbidden the servants from changing the linens. When the maid had come that morning with fresh sheets, he had snarled at her so fiercely that she had dropped the bundle and fled, and Aerion had spent the next hour smoothing out the rumpled side of the bed where Y/N had last slept, arranging the pillows exactly as she liked them, preserving the shrine of her absence.
He was being dramatic. He knew this. He did not care.
"My prince," came a hesitant voice from the doorway. A serving girl, young and pale with fear, her hands clasped so tightly before her that her knuckles had gone white. "Your father requests your presence at the midday meal."
Aerion did not turn. His voice, when it came, was distant, thrumming with barely suppressed anguish. "Tell him I am indisposed."
"My prince, he was most insistent—"
"Tell him," Aerion's head snapped toward her, violet eyes blazing with such sudden ferocity that the girl took a stumbling step backward, "that my wife—my heart—has been torn from my breast and carted off to that stinking city, and I will not sit at a table pretending to enjoy the company of men who still have their wives beside them while mine languishes in absence. Tell him that I am in mourning. Tell him that the light has gone out of Summerhall. Tell him—" His voice cracked, and for a moment he looked less like a dragon prince and more like a man utterly undone. "Tell him that I cannot."
The girl fled. He heard her footsteps echoing down the corridor, a panicked staccato, and he almost felt a flicker of satisfaction. Let them all know. Let them all see what her absence had done to him.
He turned back to the window, pressing his palm flat against the glass. His breath fogged the pane, and for a moment he fancied he could trace her name in the condensation. Y/N. He traced it once, twice, a third time, watching the letters blur and fade, and something in his chest constricted so painfully that he had to brace himself against the window frame.
Gods, but he missed her.
He missed the sound of her voice, sharp and commanding, telling him his hair was a mess and to sit still while she fixed it. He missed the way she would sprawl across their bed as though she owned it, as though she owned him, with that imperious tilt to her chin and her feet bare and her hair spilling everywhere. He missed the fire in her eyes when she was displeased, which was often, and the way she would make him work for her smile, which was everything. He missed the weight of her hand on his arm when they walked together, the possessive curl of her fingers.
He missed her in the morning, when he woke and reached for her and found only cold sheets. He missed her at night, when the candles burned low and the quiet of their chambers became unbearable. He missed her at meals, when he looked to the seat beside him and saw it empty, and his stomach turned at the sight of food he could not share with her. He missed her in the training yard, where he had no one to impress with his prowess, no one to roll her eyes at his boasting and call him a preening fool in that tone that meant she loved him. He missed her in his blood, in his bones, in the very marrow of him.
She was perfection. She was the sun around which his entire wretched existence orbited.
When she walked, flowers bloomed. He had seen it himself, well, perhaps not seen, but he knew. The grass grew greener in her footsteps, the air itself became sweeter, the very sky seemed to brighten. Birds sang when she passed. The clouds parted. The Seven themselves must have looked down upon her and marveled at their creation. She was a vision of grace and gentleness, his lady wife, his dragonness, his beautiful, beautiful—
"Brother."
Aemon's voice cut through his reverie like a blade. Aerion did not bother to hide his scowl as the younger prince entered the chamber without knocking, as was his irritating habit. Aemon was ten, small and serious, and he looked at Aerion with the particular expression of a child who had long since grown accustomed to his elder brother's eccentricities.
"What," Aerion said flatly. He did not move from the window.
Aemon leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms in a gesture that was far too old for his years. "The servants are saying you've refused to eat for two days."
"I am not hungry."
"You're always hungry. I've seen you eat an entire pheasant by yourself."
Aerion turned, finally, and the full force of his tragic countenance fell upon his little brother. His eyes were red rimmed, his pale skin even paler than usual, his jaw shadowed with the barest hint of stubble he had not bothered to shave away. "My appetite has departed with my wife. How can I be expected to eat when she is not here to grace the table with her presence? When I must look upon your face instead of hers? When every bite I take is ash in my mouth because she is not beside me to share it?"
Aemon's expression did not change. "She's been gone three days."
"Three centuries." Aerion pressed the back of his hand to his forehead in a gesture that would have been comical if he were not entirely sincere. "Three eternities. I have aged a thousand years in her absence. Look at me, Aemon. Look at what has become of me."
He did look. Aerion was, objectively, still the same sharp featured, silver haired prince he had always been, perhaps slightly more disheveled than usual but otherwise unchanged. Aemon seemed to reach this conclusion as well, because his eyebrow arched with the precision of a courtier twice his age.
"You look the same."
"I am wasted," Aerion insisted. "I am a hollow shell. A ghost haunting these halls. Without her, I am nothing. Less than nothing. I am—" He paused, searching for a word sufficiently dramatic. "—diminished."
Aemon sighed. It was a heavy sound for such a small boy. "Father is concerned."
"Father can concern himself with his own marriage." Aerion finally moved from the window, but only to throw himself into a chair with all the despair of a tragedy hero in his final act. He let his head fall back, staring at the ceiling, one arm draped across his eyes. "You do not understand. None of you understand. You have never loved."
"I'm ten."
"Age is no barrier to understanding true love. I knew I loved Y/N from the moment she threw a candlestick at my head during our first meeting. It was a magnificent throw. She has such strength in her wrist, such precision, such—" He let out a shuddering breath. "Such perfection."
Aemon, who had been present for that first meeting and had witnessed Y/N hurl a candlestick at Aerion's head because he had made some comment about her family that was, in retrospect, deeply offensive, said nothing.
"Do you know what she said to me, the night before she left?" Aerion asked, his voice going soft and distant. He did not wait for an answer. "She said, 'Don't be a fool while I'm gone.' And I said, 'I am always a fool for you, my love.' And she—" His voice cracked. "She laughed. She laughed, Aemon. The most beautiful sound in all the Seven Kingdoms. And then she kissed me, here—" He touched his lips "—and she said, 'I know.'"
He was quiet for a moment, lost in the memory. Then he surged up from the chair, suddenly animated, pacing the chamber with wild, restless energy.
"Her hair," he said, "do you remember her hair? The way it catches the light? and when the sun hits it just so, it glows, Aemon. It glows like embers. And her eyes—gods, her eyes—they are like nothing else in this world, and when she is angry they darken, and when she laughs they lighten, and when she looks at me—"
"She usually looks at you like you're about to do something stupid," Aemon observed.
"With love," Aerion corrected fiercely. "She looks at me with love. The love of a woman who has chosen me, who has bound herself to me, who has—" He stopped mid pace, a thought striking him with such force that he went pale. "What if she decides to stay longer? What if her family convinces her that King's Landing is more pleasant than Summerhall? What if she—what if she forgets me?"
"That seems unlikely."
"You don't know! You don't know the power of her family's influence. Her mother, that woman—she never approved of me. She said I was—" He lowered his voice to a pompous imitation. "—'volatile and overly dramatic.' As though those are insults."
"They might be."
"They are virtues," Aerion declared. "I am a Targaryen. Volatility is in my blood. And yet her mother looks at me as though I am a stain upon her daughter's gown. What if she spends this fortnight whispering in Y/N's ear? What if she convinces her to—to—"
He could not say it. Could not even form the word leave.
He sank back into the chair, all the manic energy draining out of him. His hands gripped the armrests so tightly his knuckles went white. "If she does not return to me, I shall burn something. I don't know what. Something important. Something that will make them all regret taking her from me."
"She's visiting her family, Aerion. No one took her."
"They took her from me." His voice cracked again, raw and honest in a way he rarely allowed anyone to see. "They took her from me and I am here alone, in this cold place, without her warmth. Do you know what it is to share a bed with someone for a year and then have it empty? Do you know what it is to reach for someone in the night and find only a pillow? Do you know—"
He stopped. Swallowed. Looked away.
Aemon, to his credit, did not mock him. The little boy crossed the room and stood beside his brother's chair, and after a moment, he placed a small hand on Aerion's arm.
"She'll come back," Aemon said quietly. "She likes Summerhall better than King's Landing. She told me so. She said—" He paused, clearly debating whether to share what he had been told. Then: "She said the food is better here and her mother gives her headaches."
"She said that?"
"She said the roast lamb here is better than anything in the Red Keep. She said—" Aemon's voice dropped to a whisper. "—she said she married you for your family's kitchens."
"She did not."
"She did. I was there." Aemon's expression was solemn. "She said it to Mother when she thought you couldn't hear. She said, 'At least the food is good, even if my husband is a madman.'"
Aerion pressed a hand to his chest, overcome. "She adores me."
"She said you were a madman."
"A term of endearment." He was smiling now, a real smile, the first in three days. "She calls me a madman because she finds my passion invigorating. She finds my intensity—my focus—she finds it romantic. I know she does. She told me once that I loved her more fiercely than any man had ever loved anything, and that she—that she—" His voice caught. "She said she would not have it any other way."
He looked toward the window again, but this time his expression was softer, almost hopeful. "Do you think she misses me?"
Aemon considered the question with the gravity of a maester pondering a philosophical treatise. Finally, he said: "She said you were annoying before you left. But she also packed your favorite doublet. The blue one. She told the maid to make sure it was clean for you while she was gone."
Aerion closed his eyes, overwhelmed. "She does miss me."
"Maybe."
"She does. She packed my doublet. She thinks of me, even when she is away. She carries me in her heart, as I carry her in mine. We are bound, Aemon. Bound by something greater than marriage, greater than duty, greater than—" He opened his eyes, seized by a sudden thought. "I should write to her."
"You said you wouldn't. You said you wanted her to come to you first, to prove that she—" Aemon paused, clearly trying to remember the exact phrasing. "—'yearns for you as desperately as you yearn for her.'"
"I changed my mind." Aerion was already moving, crossing to the writing desk that sat by the window, the desk where Y/N usually sat when she wrote her letters, where her inkpot still sat and her quill still lay, where he could see the faint scratch marks she had left in the wood from pressing too hard when she was angry about something. He dropped into the chair—her chair—and pulled a sheet of parchment toward him.
His hand trembled as he dipped the quill. He had so much to say. So much. How could he possibly contain it all in a single letter? How could he capture the depth of his longing, the breadth of his devotion, the way the world had dimmed without her in it?
He began to write.
My love, my life, my dragonness—
He paused, reading the words. Too small. Too insufficient. He crumpled the parchment and threw it aside.
To the most beautiful woman in all the Seven Kingdoms, without whom I am nothing but a shadow, a ghost, a man already dead—
Too dramatic? No. No such thing. But perhaps she would roll her eyes, and he loved when she rolled her eyes. He loved the way she looked at him when he was being too much, because even then, even when she was exasperated, there was something in her gaze that said I see you, I have you, you are mine.
He wrote again.
Y/N—
I am dying. Not the slow death of age or illness, but the swift death of absence. My heart has stopped beating. My lungs have stopped drawing air. I exist only as a vessel of longing, a monument to my own foolishness for ever allowing you to leave my sight.
The sun has not shone since you departed. I have looked for it. I have searched the sky each morning, hoping to see it, and each morning I find only grey. The flowers in the garden have wilted. The birds have stopped singing. The very stones of Summerhall have grown cold, as though the castle itself knows that its lady is gone.
I have not eaten. I have not slept. I have not done anything but think of you, dream of you, ache for you. Your pillow still smells of your hair. I lie in your place in the bed and pretend you are beside me. I speak to you in the empty chambers, and sometimes, sometimes I can almost hear you answering.
Do not stay away too long. I fear I shall not survive it.
Come back to me.
Come back to me.
Come back to me.
Your devoted husband,
Aerion
He read it over three times, making small adjustments, crossing out a word here, adding a flourish there. Then, seized by a final impulse, he turned the parchment sideways and drew a small dragon at the bottom, breathing a heart shaped flame. Y/N had once told him his drawings were terrible. He had been offended. He was a Targaryen. Dragons were in his blood. The fact that his dragons looked more like deformed lizards with wings was entirely irrelevant.
He folded the letter carefully, pressed his seal into wax—his personal seal, the three-headed dragon encircled by flames—and held it to his lips for a moment before setting it aside to be sent.
"There," he said, satisfied. "Now she will know. Now she will understand the depth of my suffering, and she will return to me, and everything will be right again."
Aemon, who had watched the entire process with the expression of a child who had long since learned not to question his brother's peculiarities, picked up one of the crumpled attempts from the floor. He smoothed it out, read it, and looked at Aerion with an arched eyebrow.
"You wrote 'my dragonness' with two n's."
"It is spelled with two n's."
"It is not."
"It is when I spell it. She is not a dragoness, like some common beast. She is my dragonness. The extra n signifies—" He waved a hand vaguely. "—grandeur. Magnificence. The ineffable quality of her being."
Aemon stared at him for a long moment. Then, with the particular weariness of a child who has long since given up trying to understand his brother, he said: "Father wants to know if you'll be joining us for the rest of the week, or if you intend to waste away in here until Y/N returns."
"I shall waste away," Aerion declared, settling deeper into her chair, pulling her shawl, which had been left draped over the back, around his shoulders. It smelled of her. He breathed in deeply. "Let them bury me in my wedding cloak. Let them say: here lies Aerion Targaryen, who loved too much and too well. Who could not survive the absence of his beloved. Whose heart, like his ancestor's before him, turned to ash without the fire of his—"
Aemon, ten years old and already possessed of more sense than his elder brother, crossed his arms. “Y/N threw a book at your head the morning before she left.”
“It was a love note.”
“It was a history of House Targaryen. She threw it because you said her new gown made her look ‘pleasantly round.’”
Aerion clutched his chest. “And I was wrong. She is not pleasantly round. She is exquisitely formed. Perfect in every proportion. A goddess descended from the heavens to grace unworthy me with her—”
“She also called you a ‘silver haired fool’ and said she hoped the journey to King’s Landing took twice as long as usual so she might have some peace.”
The words landed, but they did not land as Aemon intended. Aerion’s eyes went soft, dreamy, a smile curving his lips for the first time in three days.
“She was teasing,” he breathed. “She does that. She teases me because she loves me. Her wit is so sharp, so brilliant—do you know how fortunate I am to be married to a woman of such intellect? When she calls me a fool, it is affection. When she throws things, it is passion. When she—”
“She broke your nose last moon.”
“A light passion.” Aerion touched his nose fondly. “It was an accident. She was aiming for the vase.”
Aemon stared at him for a long moment. Then, with the particular weariness of a child who has long since given up trying to understand his brother, he said: "She's going to be back in a fortnight, Aerion. Try not to die of heartbreak before then."
The door closed.
Aerion sat in silence for a long moment, wrapped in his wife's shawl, surrounded by her scent, her things, her absence. He picked up the letter he had written, unfolded it, read it again. The words stared back at him, inadequate as they were, but they would have to do. They would have to carry the weight of everything he could not say.
He thought of Y/N. Of the way she would wrinkle her nose when she was displeased. Of the way she would snap her fingers at servants and nobles alike, expecting obedience and receiving it because she was his wife, because she was his, because she was terrifying and magnificent and the most beautiful creature to ever draw breath. He thought of the way she would push his hair back from his face when he was brooding, the way she would kiss his forehead and tell him to stop being so much, the way she would say it like it was not a criticism but a compliment, like his excess was something she treasured rather than tolerated.
He thought of the way she had looked at him on their wedding night, with something like wonder in her eyes, as though she could not quite believe that this ridiculous, passionate, infuriating man belonged to her. He thought of the way she had said his name—Aerion—as though it was a secret only she knew. He thought of the way she had fallen asleep in his arms, her breathing soft and even, her hand curled against his chest like she was holding onto him even in sleep.
He missed her. Gods, he missed her.
He lifted the letter to his lips, pressed a kiss to the folded parchment, and set it carefully on the desk to be sent with the morning's ravens.
"Come back soon, my dragonness," he murmured to the empty room, to the lingering scent of her on her shawl, to the hollow space beside him in the bed. "The flowers are wilting without you. The sun has forgotten how to shine. And I—I am nothing without you. Nothing at all."
He pulled the shawl tighter, closed his eyes, and pretended, for just a moment, that she was there.
Meanwhile, in King's Landing:
You sat in your family's solar, feet propped on an embroidered cushion, a plate of honeyed figs balanced on your stomach, and a look of supreme contentment on your face. You were sprawled across a chaise in a manner that would have horrified your septa, one hand trailing lazily through a bowl of grapes you had commandeered from the kitchens, the other holding a cup of wine that you had refilled three times already.
Your mother, seated across from you with the rigid posture of a woman who had spent her entire life cultivating proper manners, watched you with the particular resignation of a parent who had long since given up trying to impose decorum.
"Must you sprawl like that?" your mother asked, not for the first time.
"I am comfortable," you said, not moving. "You should try it. Loosen your stays. Unlace your boots. Live a little."
"I am a lady of the court. I do not 'live a little.'"
You snorted. "Your loss."
You bit into a fig with relish, letting the honeyed sweetness coat your tongue. The figs in King's Landing were good, better than Summerhall's if you were being honest, though you would never admit it. The wine was passable, and your mother's servants were efficient and unobtrusive, and for the first time in months you were not being followed around by a silver haired shadow who watched you with the intensity of a dragon guarding its hoard.
You loved Aerion. You did. Fiercely. But the man was exhausting.
He looked at you like you were the sun and the moon and the stars all rolled into one. He followed you from room to room like a devoted puppy, except puppies did not usually compose epic poetry about the curve of your neck. He touched you constantly, your hand, your hair, your waist, as though he needed the physical reassurance that you were still there, still real, still his. He was dramatic and possessive and utterly, completely mad, and you would not have him any other way.
But seven hells, a fortnight without him was a vacation.
"You have been here three days," your mother observed, breaking into your thoughts. "Should you not be writing to your husband?"
You popped another fig into your mouth. "I will."
"When?"
"When I feel like it." You stretched, languid and comfortable, your arms reaching above your head in a gesture that made your mother wince at the impropriety. "He is probably moping around Summerhall writing me letters. He gets dramatic when I am gone."
"And that does not concern you?"
You considered the question. You thought of Aerion, beautiful, mad, your Aerion, pacing your shared chambers, composing florid verses about your eyes, refusing to eat, driving his family to distraction with his theatrical suffering. You thought of the letter that would inevitably arrive in a day or two, covered in his cramped, urgent handwriting, filled with declarations of undying devotion and descriptions of his agony in your absence.
A slow, pleased smile spread across your face. "He will survive. He always does. Besides, it is good for him. It reminds him what it is like without me."
"Y/N." Your mother's voice was sharp. "You are a terror."
"I know." Your smile sharpened, affectionate and wicked all at once. "He loves it."
You thought of the way Aerion had looked at you before you left, his violet eyes wide and tragic, his hands gripping yours as though you were being led to the executioner's block rather than a carriage. Do not go, he had said, and he had meant it, had meant it with every fiber of his being, had meant it so fiercely that you had almost, almost considered staying. Do not leave me. I cannot breathe without you.
You had kissed him, soft and quick, and told him to be good, and then you had climbed into the carriage and watched him grow smaller and smaller in the window until he was just a silver haired speck in the distance, and you had felt not guilt, exactly. Not guilt. But something that might have been tenderness, if tenderness was the sort of thing you admitted to.
You missed him. You did. You missed the warmth of him beside you at night, the ridiculous things he said that made you laugh despite yourself, the way he looked at you like you had hung the moon. You missed the weight of his arm around your waist, the sound of his voice calling your name, the way he would press kisses to your shoulder in the morning when he thought you were still asleep.
But you also enjoyed the silence. The absence of constant, overwhelming Aerion. The ability to eat a meal without being stared at. The chance to sleep without someone wrapping around you like a starfish.
You would go back. Of course you would go back. You would go back in a fortnight, and you would find him in your chambers, pale and dramatic and probably unshaven, with a stack of desperate letters on the desk and your shawl wrapped around his shoulders like a security blanket, and you would kiss him, and he would weep, and you would call him a fool, and he would agree, and everything would be exactly as it should be.
But for now, you were going to enjoy your figs.
Your mother sighed, the sound of a woman who had long since accepted her daughter's nature. "Your father wants to host a dinner tomorrow night. Several of the courtiers have asked about you."
You wrinkled your nose. "I do not want to see courtiers. I came here to escape."
"You came here to visit your family."
"I came here to eat your figs and sleep in a bed that does not contain a five foot man who radiates heat like a furnace and twitches in his sleep." You reached for another fig. "The family is a bonus."
Your mother's lips pressed together in a thin line. "You have responsibilities. Appearances to maintain. You cannot simply"
"I can," you interrupted, "and I will. I am the wife of Aerion Targaryen. If I want to spend a fortnight eating figs and ignoring courtiers, I shall. Who is going to stop me? My husband?" You laughed, bright and sharp. "He would thank me for resting. He would probably compose an ode to my repose. Behold my dragonness, who reclines in splendor, her beauty outshining the very sun itself." You pitched your voice into a ridiculous imitation of Aerion's dramatic cadence. "See how her fingers curl around a fig, how her lips part to receive it, how the heavens themselves weep with envy at her grace."
Your mother stared at you.
You grinned. "I am going to write that down. He will love it. He will probably frame it."
"You are both utterly mad."
"Perhaps." You settled back against the chaise, closing your eyes, a smile still playing at your lips. "But we are mad together. That is the important part."
You did not write to him that day. Or the next. On the third day, a letter arrived from Summerhall, sealed with red wax and Aerion's personal sigil, and you read it in bed with a cup of tea, laughing aloud at the extravagant declarations of suffering and the tiny dragon breathing a heart shaped flame in the corner.
You folded it carefully and tucked it beneath your pillow, where you could feel it when you slept.
On the fourth day, you wrote back. Your letter was two lines long:
Do not starve. I will be back when I am back.
Y/N
--
From Prince Maekar Targaryen, Summerhall, to His Good-Daughter Y/N Targaryen, King's Landing
To Y/N, Princess of House Targaryen, Lady of Summerhall,
I hope this letter finds you well and that your visit with your family has been pleasant. I trust the capital agrees with you and that you are enjoying the comforts of your mother's home.
I write to you now with a request that I offer with as much dignity as I can muster, which is to say: please come home.
I am begging you.
Your husband has been moping through the halls of this castle for a week now and I cannot endure another day of it. When you are here, Aerion is a terror. He picks fights with his brothers. He argues with the household knights. He sets things on fire when he is bored. He is loud and obnoxious and he drives me to drink. These are his good qualities. These are the qualities I have, over the course of his life, learned to tolerate, even to expect. They are the qualities that have prepared me for the indignities of fatherhood.
But this?
He has not argued with anyone in six days. He has not set anything on fire. He has not even raised his voice. Instead, he drifts through the corridors like a ghost wrapped in your shawl. He sits by the window in your chambers and stares at the horizon for hours. He refused to attend meals for three days, and when I finally forced him to appear, he sat in your chair and pushed food around his plate with the expression of a man who had lost his will to live.
It is unbearable.
I have seen Aerion angry. I have seen Aerion cruel. I have seen Aerion so drunk that he tried to challenge a horse to single combat. I have seen him at his worst, Y/N, and I have weathered it all with the stoicism of a father who knows what his son is. But I have never seen him like this. I have never seen him sad. I did not know he was capable of it. I thought the emotion was foreign to him, that he was built for fury and passion and nothing in between.
I was wrong. He is capable of sadness. He is capable of a deep, theatrical, utterly pathetic sadness that is somehow ten times more irritating than his usual behavior because at least when he is terrorizing the castle I can yell at him. What am I supposed to do when he looks at me with those violet eyes and asks if I think you still love him? What am I supposed to say when he tells me that the birds have stopped singing because you took the music with you? What am I supposed to do when my son, who once tried to drink fire, begins to cry because he found a hair ribbon of yours under the bed and it still smells like you?
I am not equipped for this.
I had to watch Aerion sit in the rain for an hour because he said the sky was crying with him.
The sky was not crying with him. It was raining. It rains at Summerhall. It rains often. This is a normal occurrence that has never before prompted my son to stand in the courtyard with his arms outstretched like a man awaiting divine intervention.
The servants are talking. The household knights are uncomfortable. Your brother in law Daeron has taken to hiding in the library, and I cannot blame him.
I need you to come back. I need you to come back soon. I need you to restore my son to his natural state of being an insufferable, arrogant, occasionally violent menace because I have discovered that I prefer that Aerion to the alternative. I prefer being terrorized to being mourned. I prefer the chaos to the silence. I prefer the Aerion who makes me want to lock him in his chambers to the Aerion who makes me want to hold him and tell him everything will be alright, because I am a warrior, Y/N, I am a prince of House Targaryen, I have fought in battles and seen men die and I do not know how to comfort my own son.
I am not asking. I am begging. Come back. End this. Save us all.
Your good-father,
Maekar Targaryen
P.S. He has taken to sleeping with your shawl. He wears it around his shoulders like a cloak. I saw him walking through the garden at dawn with it wrapped around him, speaking to your favorite rose bush as though it might answer. I am not making this up. I wish I were making this up.
P.P.S. If you tell anyone about this letter, I will deny everything. I will claim it was forged. I will have you removed from the succession. I will do something dramatic and irreversible. Do not test me on this.
Letter the Second: From Prince Maekar Targaryen, Summerhall, to His Good-Daughter Y/N Targaryen, King's Landing
Y/N,
It has been three days since my last letter. I am writing again because the situation has deteriorated.
Aerion has begun composing poetry aloud. I do not mean that he is writing it down. I mean that he stands in the great hall, in the courtyard, in the corridors, and recites verses about your eyes and your hair and the way you walk. His voice carries. There is nowhere in this castle that is safe from declarations of his undying love for you and his profound suffering in your absence.
The servants are requesting transfers. Two of the kitchen maids asked to be reassigned to the Dornish border. The stable master has offered to take a pay cut if it means being sent to literally any other holding. I am running out of places to put people who do not want to hear my son describe the precise shade of your eyes for the fifth time in a single afternoon.
This morning, he cornered me in the armory to ask whether I thought you would be pleased with the poem he composed about your laugh. He read it to me. It was forty lines long. It described your laugh as a "silver bell that shatters the darkness" and "a melody that would make the Seven themselves weep with envy." I have heard you laugh. It is not a silver bell. It is a sharp, wicked sound that usually precedes someone being verbally eviscerated. I say this with affection. You are a good match for my son. But your laugh does not shatter darkness. It shatters egos.
I told him it was beautiful. What else was I supposed to say? He had tears in his eyes, Y/N. Actual tears. My son, who once laughed when I broke my arm falling from a horse, was on the verge of weeping because I might not appreciate his poetry about your laugh. I told him it was the finest poem I had ever heard. I told him you would cherish it. I told him I would personally ensure it was delivered to you with the next raven. He thanked me. He thanked me with such sincerity that I felt something twist in my chest, and I realized that I would rather have him set something on fire than look at me like that again.
Please come home.
Your good father,
Maekar Targaryen
P.S. He is now composing a poem about your hands. I overheard him telling Aemon that your fingers are "delicate as rose petals" and that he dreams of them every night. I do not know how Aemon tolerates this. I do not know how any of us tolerate this.
Letter the Third: From Prince Daeron Targaryen, Summerhall, to His Good-Sister Y/N Targaryen, King's Landing
Y/N,
Father does not know I am writing this. He has forbidden any of us from contacting you because he says it is "beneath the dignity of House Targaryen" to beg, which is ironic because he has sent you three letters already.
Do not tell him I wrote to you. He will be angry. But I cannot stay silent any longer.
I am hiding in the library. I have been hiding in the library for four days. I bring food with me in the mornings and I do not emerge until nightfall. The measters have stopped questioning it. They simply leave a candle for me and pretend I am not there. I am becoming friends with the dust. I am starting to understand the appeal of being a maester. Anything is better than being in the same room as Aerion right now.
He is unbearable. You know how he is when you are here. He is loud and arrogant and he follows you around like a dragon with a favorite treasure. It is annoying, yes. It is irritating. He picks fights with me for no reason. He calls me a drunkard. He says I have the personality of a wet scroll. He once challenged me to a duel because I suggested he might want to visit a brothel. These are the things I complain about when you are here. These are the things I tell Father I cannot tolerate.
I was wrong. I was so wrong. I would take a hundred duels. I would take a thousand. I would let him call me a drunkard every day for the rest of my life if it meant he would stop looking at me like that.
He does not pick fights anymore. He does not call me boring. He does not challenge me to duels. Instead, he finds me. He finds me wherever I am hiding, and he sits beside me, and he asks me questions. Questions, Y/N. He wants to know about my day. He wants to know what I am drinking. He wants to know if I am happy. He has never asked me if I am happy. I did not think he knew the word.
Yesterday, he put his hand on my shoulder. He has never touched me voluntarily in his entire life unless it was to shove me. He put his hand on my shoulder and he said, "Daeron, do you think she misses me?" And his voice was so small, Y/N. I did not know his voice could be small. His voice is always loud. His voice is always demanding. His voice is the sound of something about to be set on fire. But yesterday, his voice was small, and I did not know what to do, so I lied. I told him of course you missed him. I told him you probably thought about him every day. I told him you would be back soon.
He smiled. He smiled, Y/N. It was not his normal smile, which is sharp and cruel and usually means someone is about to be humiliated. It was a real smile. A soft smile. A smile that made him look like he was not a menace to society but just a man who missed his wife. It was the most unsettling thing I have ever seen.
I want my brother back. I want the brother who calls me boring and challenges me to duels and sets things on fire. I want the brother who makes me want to throw things at his head. I do not want this brother. This brother makes me feel things. This brother makes me want to help him. This brother makes me want to be kind to him, and I do not know how to be kind to Aerion. I do not know how to be kind to someone who has spent our entire lives making kindness feel like a trap.
Please come back. I am begging you. Come back and restore him to his natural state so I can go back to hating him in peace.
Hii! I love you so much. Can you please write a really smutty poly!mauraders with a fluffy ending? (Ignoring wormtail because I'm still mad at him.) If not it's okay, I just love your writing! 🫶
competition | poly!marauders
pairing: poly!marauders (james, remus, and sirius) x fem!reader
warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), anal, not proofread
a/n: everyone in my inbox always tells me how much they love when i make the boys bicker, especially in the bedroom, so i hope it's okay that i threw that in here a bunch :) i also don’t know if this is as smutty as you wanted, but i hope it’s okay!
────── ☾ ──────
Remus flicked the ashes of his cigarette out of the bedroom window, smoke leaving his lips along with a chuckle. "Yeah, right."
Sirius shrugged as he took a drag from his cigarette. "The results speak for themselves."
James, who didn't smoke because it would taint his athlete lungs (as he so humbly put it), propped one leg up as he backed up against the bed frame, adjusting his position on the floor. "You fucking wish."
"I could do that if I tried. You're not special, Pads. I just don't because I know it would be too much for a girl, especially around the full moon," Remus said.
"Oh here he goes again with his rough sex werewolf shit," James threw his hands up in the air, getting a laugh from Sirius.
"Never made a girl squirt though, have you? You stay jealous, Moons," Sirius challenged.
"Surely you know that we do not believe you," James said.
Sirius sighed, leaning back onto his mattress, propping himself up on his elbows. "Well, when her cum shot all over my face, it did feel pretty fuckin' unbelievable."
"Just because virgins think you're good in the sack doesn't mean you are," Remus chimed back in, "how are they supposed to know that there's so much better out there?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Sirius said, leaning back up and tilting forward in Remus's direction, "I didn't realize you have a history of fuckin' making virgins squirt. I didn't realize this topic was so familiar to you, how dare I."
"It can't be that hard to make a virgin squirt, Sirius, I'm feelin' like that's pretty easy," James said.
"The real challenge is with experienced girls," Remus said, blowing more smoke out of the window, "You think you're all that? Get back to me when you make someone impossible to please come. Not even to squirt, just to come."
Sirius diverted his gaze from Remus to James, who looked to Remus, who looked back at James, who then turned to Sirius. "That a challenge?" Sirius asked.
"Maybe it is."
"Well if I'm gonna try, you're gonna try, you fucking asshole," Sirius told Remus.
"What, is James just off the hook? We all know he can't do it anyways."
James threw his hands up again. "I can do it."
"Okay, so pick a girl," Sirius said, raising his brows in challenge.
In a mocking voice, Remus joked, "but how will we ever find a girl that sex god Sirius Black can't please?"
"You think Y/N would do it?" James asked.
"You don't think that might ruin our friendship?" Remus questioned.
"Let's review," James said, standing up and beginning to count his points on his fingers, "one, we've all been friends with her for forever, so she trusts us. Two, we all know she's got experience, and we know there's a bunch of guys who haven't been able to make her come. Three, she doesn't strike me as someone who would get attached and ruin our friendships over sex. And four, perhaps the most important of all: she's hot and we all wanna fuck her."
"How the fuck do we even broach that subject?" Sirius asked, "are we supposed to ask her to let us fuck her as a competition? Do we just try to kiss her and see where it leads? This is Y/N for fucks sake."
"Correct," Remus responded, "it`'s just Y/N. I feel like it'll be way easier to ask her than some other random girl."
"Oh, Sirius has no problem asking random girls for sex," James joked, though he was serious.
"The only reason we're friends with Y/N is because she turned you down, do you remember that, Jamie?" Sirius shot back.
"She didn't turn me down, jackass, she was in a relationship. Otherwise, I would have for sure gotten to hit that."
"Big bad James and his big bad muscles on the big bad Quidditch team, ok then," Remus joked, "irresistible to all girls. Oh wait! Except for one."
"If you're jealous of my body, Moons, just say it. This," he gestured down his torso, "takes a lot of work."
"You're really talking yourself up when my skinny ass gets more girls than you do, and more boys too, for that matter. I'm sorry, which one of us has had sex with the majority of your Quidditch team? Oh, not you? Weird," Remus responded.
“You know that fraternization on the team would be frowned upon, why would you say that when you know-“
“Oh relax,” Remus cut James off.
“Doesn’t matter how many guys you get, Moons, you still can’t make Y/N come.”
“What are we, just going off the honors system here? I already don’t believe Sirius made someone squirt, you two want me to believe you if you just say you did it? Where’s the proof?” James questioned.
“Proof? What do you want us to do, suck her cum up in a syringe, you fucking weirdo?” Remus replied.
“No no, it’s a fair point,” Sirius chimed in, “I don’t believe half the shit you tell me anyway.”
“Ok, so what do you wanna do then? Fuck her at the same time?” Remus asked.
James and Sirius exchanged a long glance.
“You two aren’t serious.”
James and Sirius both shrugged.
“I’m not fucking her with you two idiots in the room ruining it,” Remus said.
“Oh, I beg to differ,” Sirius said, “I’d only make it better. For her especially.”
“Would not.”
“Would too.”
“You think you’re such a fucking sex god-“
“It’s not a little weird to fuck the same girl at the same time? What are we gonna do, take turns?” James asked.
“She’s got three holes,” Sirius said.
“Okay, but the entire point of fucking her is to see who can actually make her come, idiot,” Remus said, “so obviously that doesn’t matter. I’m not sticking my dick somewhere that I’ll be able to feel one of yours, guys.”
“Why not?” James asked genuinely.
“Because, because-“
“Because, because, come on, Rem, it’s only weird if you make it weird. I’ve seen your dick before.”
“Me changing in front of you is not the same as us fucking someone at the same time.”
“The thought of watching her get railed by one of us doesn’t do anything for you?” James asked.
Remus blinked, unable to cohesively think of a rebuttal. “I mean.”
“Mhm,” Sirius nodded.
“Okay, so it’s agreed, we’re all gonna fuck her with the rest of us there so we have proof we aren’t lying, and we’re gonna see who can make her come,” James said.
“What if we can all make her come?” Remus asked.
“Then whoever does it first?” James tried.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, I mean what if she comes harder for one of us? Once she comes it’s gonna be too easy to make her come again. Like that’s not a good gage,” Sirius said.
“No no, we share space equitably. No one hogs any part of her. Whoever makes her come first, wins,” Remus said.
“Wins what, exactly?” Sirius said.
James shrugged. “Let’s let her decide.”
────── ☾ ──────
Your gaze diverted between the three boys in front of you, your book laying open in your lap as you adjusted your cross-legged position on the common room couch. “Are you joking?”
“Nope,” said Sirius.
You processed for a few moments. “Okay, and what exactly do you get if you make me come first?” you asked.
James dipped his head and smirked. “We were uh- we were actually gonna let you decide that one.”
You raised your brows. “You were, were you?”
“…Yeah.”
You nodded your head up and down, thinking and processing. “And you all just assumed I’d say yes?”
“Honestly I don’t think we ever got that far,” Remus admitted.
“Right, right,” you said, “right.”
“You can say no, you know,” Sirius said.
You turned toward him. “I know.”
“So are you saying no?” he asked.
“No,” you replied, quicker than you anticipated.
“Are you saying yes?” Sirius pressed.
You pondered Sirius’s question. “Can I have a day or two to think about it?”
“Of course, of course,” James said.
Luckily you had plans in Hogsmeade the next day, which gave you an opportunity to give the boys an answer.
When Dorcas and Mary left the Hog’s Head early to “work on some overdue assignments,” you were left alone with the boys.
“So I have an answer for you,” you said.
“Already?” Remus said.
“Yeah, already, jackass.”
“And?”
“I’m down.”
All three boys exchanged glances. “Yeah?”
“Don’t act so surprised. You said no strings, you guys are hot, and fuck if I don’t need a good orgasm. The boys around here don’t do it for me, as you well know.” You’d tipsily told them several times how none of the boys at school could make you come.
“And you think we can?”
“If you’re really gonna try this hard, I think at least one of you has a shot. With all the sex you have? Please. If one of you can’t make me come, no one can. It’s worth a shot, and three tries is better than one.”
“Oh, so you’re using us?” Sirius joked.
“Mm, only because you guys wanted to use me first,” you lightheartedly shot back.
“Fair enough,” Sirius surrendered.
The conversation quickly shifted when butterbeers and pumpkin juices arrived, and all attention turned toward drinking games and late-night escapades.
As you walked through the cool-breezed, darkened streets of Hogsmeade, you took note of the lack of people around. You were sure the boys didn't notice.
"Where are you going?" Remus asked, watching you drift toward an alleyway.
You made a come-hither motion at the boys as you stepped into the alleyway, scanning quickly for any sign of life and finding none.
"What are you-" you grabbed Remus's face, cutting him off with a kiss. Without a second thought, Remus's hands found your waist, pulling you closer to him on instinct.
Both you and Remus were experienced enough to turn the kiss into a heated exchange quickly. You bit his bottom lip, and in turn, he took the moment of disconnection to slip his tongue into your mouth.
He took steps forward, backing you up until your back collided with the outer brick siding of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. Remus pulled away, thinking he had slammed your body into the wall too hard, but you immediately pulled him back. His body had no choice but to respond immediately, his hand holding the side of your jaw in place as his lips traveled down to the side of your neck.
The gap of his face in front of yours allowed you time to open your eyes and see Sirius and James watching the exchange intently.
"Guess Remus is going first then?" you teased.
"No, no, that's not the arrangement," Sirius said, "we all said no hogging. We all get equal shots. Move the fuck over."
Sirius grabbed your throat and pulled you forward into a kiss, causing Remus to stumble to the side in defeat.
Remus gestured to James to do what was just done to him to Sirius, but James wasn't one to fight for attention. James was one to wait until he was wanted, and until you were begging from attention from him. He would wait his turn patiently.
"Heathens," he snickered, "let her breathe for 2 seconds, would ya?"
Sirius pulled away, but his hand remained on your throat. "I'm sorry, I don't see you winning right now, do I? Shut up and maybe you'll learn something."
He resumed kissing you, and his hand dropped from your throat, tracing down your body until it landed between your legs. He pulled away to look into your eyes. You gave him a "yes" nod to signal that you consented to his touches.
That was the moment Remus decided he was done standing there like an idiot.
He dropped to his knees directly beside Sirius, tracing his fingers tauntingly slowly up your thighs, aiming for under your house-colored skirt.
Sirius noticed his efforts, and their hands collided directly on your underwear.
Like petulant little boys, you felt Sirius smack Remus's hand away, then Remus's hand smack him back, and then Sirius pulled his hand out from under your shirt and smacked Remus on the side of the head.
"Ass," Remus said his body moving sideways, causing his hand to leave its place under your skirt, "what the fuck was that for?"
"No one said we have to play fair," Sirius replied, shoving his hand back under your skirt and cupping between your thighs.
You barely reacted apart from a small gasp.
"You really are a tough one, huh?" Sirius teased, his hand falling for a moment.
Smirking, you responded, "you wanna make me come? You're gonna have to put in the work. Unless you think you can't handle it? Too busy fucking girls and not women?"
"Working me up is only gonna make this more intense for you," Sirius taunted, "you're playing a dangerous game."
"Don't listen to him, he's a cocky fuck," James laughed from behind Sirius.
You shifted your hips and let out a small moan. Sirius thought his words were really working you up, until he looked down to see that Remus had not only snuck his way between your legs while you and Sirius were talking, but that his head disappeared under your skirt.
Sirius decided to let Remus do some of the hard work before he chimed back in to bring you to the edge, so he stepped back, crossing his arms and sighing as he stood next to James. "At least flip the skirt up for me, gorgeous."
You pulled your skirt up, bunching it up and tucking it into its own waistband, leaving Remus visible, and when he pulled away to breathe, your core as well.
Remus flicked his tongue over your clit, one hand on your hip hooking a thumb around the fabric of your underwear to keep it to the side. Your fingers intertwined into his soft curls, keeping him in place as he moved his tongue faster and faster.
"You're kinda good at this," you spoke breathily, earning a moan of acknowledgement, the vibrations adding to your pleasure.
James decided to step in, standing to your side and turning your face toward him to finally take his turn at a kiss. The kiss was slow and passionate, the intimacy of it making you even wetter for Remus between your legs. His glasses fogged up due to the heat radiating off of your body.
When James pulled away, he kept a hand under your chin to keep your eyes on him instead of Remus. Remus's unoccupied hand began to take over his tongue's spot, circling your clit as he moved his face further back, teasing your entrance.
You let out a moan, staring into James's eyes. James nodded when you made the noise. "Good girl, that feel good?"
"Mhm," you responded, moaning again.
Remus's tongue began to fuck into you, his hand still working your clit. You used your hand to press his face further into you, refusing to give up the pleasure. You so rarely were properly pleasured by men, since they were typically unfamiliar with how to actually work their way around a woman's body, but you had a feeling that at least one of these three had to know what they were doing. You hoped it would be all of them.
As far as who you wanted to win, well, you didn't really have a preference. Honestly, all of them were hot, and you would be happy coming for any of them. Of course, there was a little bit of stake in the game. They allowed you to pick the prize for whoever won. You hadn't told them yet, but the prize would be you. Consistent sex-capades with the one girl around who could truly do it for them? That's a prize in itself.
You knew they had a lot of sex. You knew they slept with a ton of people, but you also knew that they were usually the ones giving the pleasure, not receiving it. The prize? That would change.
"Fuck, Jamie," you moaned, still staring into his eyes as Remus ate you out.
Remus pulled away, his hand never stopping as he said, "that's not fucking fair, I'm the one doing the work down here. He didn't even earn his name."
"And you think you did?" James challenged.
"She's only moanin' cus of me," Remus shot back.
"Well, you clearly haven't made her come, and you've been down there long enough," James said, "my turn."
Remus had the same thought as Sirius, and opted to let James do some of the work as well.
He sighed and backed up, and James dropped to his knees.
Despite being on his knees, James gripped the back of your thighs, hoisting you up so that your thighs were resting on his shoulders. You squealed in surprise at his strength.
"You're strong," you said.
"You have no idea," he responded, gripping your ass and pushing you into his face, immediately beginning to move his tongue at a rapid pace, his head shaking back and forth from the speed.
"Oh fuck," you moaned, throwing your head back and knocking it against the brick, "fuck, just like that."
Sirius approached again, standing directly behind James an pushing his head further into you. He leaned over James and kissed you, swallowing to whimper that followed.
James refused to stop, eating you out like he was starving. Each time you made a noise that Sirius found hot, he pushed James's head harder into you. James didn't let out a single noise of protest.
You looked down and spotted Sirius's hand on James's head, forcing him to increase the pleasure his mouth was giving you, and it caused your core to flex.
"Fuck," you gasped, "oh my god, James, fuck."
"Earned his name, I see," Sirius teased, turning to Remus.
Remus pretended to act annoyed, but anyone could see his dick straining against his pants for dear life. Even if the name you moaned wasn't his, it was still hot nevertheless, and he knew it would be his name when he was the one making you come. He had no doubts. Why not let James and Sirius have a little fun first?
Part of the reason you were so hard to make come was that man didn't understand that just eating out or just penetration wasn't enough for you. These boys had no idea that as long as they remained kneeling between your legs, they were already way off.
It took ten minutes of James eating you out before he took a breath. "Fucking hell, are you close?"
You giggled. "I don't know, am I?"
Remus caught on. "You need to be fucked, huh?"
"Okay fuck you, she might actually be close," James said, but stood up anyways.
"Didn't you guys pick me because you knew it wouldn't be easy?" you asked.
James gripped your chin and pulled your face against his, trapping you in a heated kiss to remind you that he could, in fact, make you feel good.
“Up,” Remus said, snaking his arms around your thighs, prompting you to jump and wrap your legs around his hips.
You watched in the gap between your bodies as Remus pushed everything below the waist down, exposing his long, slender cock.
He gently pressed his forehead against yours, looking between your bodies as well as he lined himself up with your entrance. He waited a moment for you to revoke consent, but when you didn’t, he pushed himself into you.
You tilted your head back as he bottomed out, barely giving you any time to adjust before he started fucking you.
You locked your legs behind him, crossing your feet to keep you in place. He kept his hands under your thighs to hold you up as he fucked you, his lips trailing down to your jawline.
“Shit, Remus,” you moaned.
The use of his name only egged him on more, causing him to start fucking into you faster. “Good fucking girl, I can feel you squeezing me,” he whispered into your air.
You whined and whimpered as his cock pumped in out of you, and Remus was beginning to lose control.
You squirmed momentarily, and Remus grabbed your hand in his own, moving it over your head and pinning it against the brick wall. “Stay fucking still.”
You saw a window of opportunity, and arched your back. “Or what?” you breathily asked.
Remus nearly growled, immediately dropping your hand and wrapping his fingers around your throat. He snapped his hips harshly, not caring about the competition anymore, just caring about fucking you the hardest you’ve ever been fucked. His hand pressed your neck into the brick, rendering you unable to move your head. In tandem with deep thrusts, he repeated, “stay. Fucking. Still.”
You obeyed.
You opened your eyes and spotted James, who was covering half of his face with his hand, breathing deeply to maintain self control. The eye contact only added to your arousal, because James’s eyes were trained on you so intensely that you almost couldn’t handle it.
Your hands explored Remus’s body, feeling muscles on his arms that you couldn’t see in the light of day on his relatively skinny frame. You pawed at his hips, involuntarily trying to push each thrust even further into you.
Sirius approached you two, his cock in hand as he gently stroked himself. “Let her off the wall.”
Remus, sweaty and losing breath, removed his lips from sucking your jawline to look at Sirius. “I’m fucking occupied.”
“Let her off the wall,” Sirius repeated, “I didn’t say you had to stop fucking her.”
Remus dipped his head into the crook of your neck. “I fucking hate you,” he said, directed as Sirius, but he remembered the terms he agreed to, and knew he was hogging you. So he moved his hands to your thighs again, and stepped backward from the building, his cock still in you.
The shifting of his hips as he moved was causing stimulation without Remus even trying.
Remus turned so that your back was to Sirius, and he resumed fucking you, slower this time. His arms moved you slightly up and down to aid in his thrusts, his hips moving the best he could without you pressed against the wall.
Sirius pressed your back against his chest, his head dipping into the crook of your neck as he began to kiss your shoulder, your neck, and your jawline, until he turned your head sideways and kissed you.
You allowed your body to fall into him, Remus’s thrusts causing you to jerk upward every few seconds. Sirius fought to hold your head against his, but honestly you moving due to getting fucked only made him harder.
“You ever done this back here before?” Sirius whispered to you.
“Mhm,” you responded, barely able to speak from how hard Remus was thrusting into you.
Sirius spit into his hand and rubbed it up and down his cock, preparing himself.
“Stop for a second,” Sirius told Remus.
“Fuck no,” Remus said, lost in pleasure.
“Stop for a second or this could hurt her, dumbass,” Sirius clarified.
Remus stopped thrusting and pressed his forehead to your collarbone, catching his breath for a second and trying to stay still until he could resume movement.
Sirius lined himself up, wrapping one hand around your stomach, and using the other hand to hold your ass up as he slowly pushed himself into your ass.
You leaned your head back onto his shoulder, allowing him to take his time stretching you.
“Would you fucking hurry up?” Remus snapped, clearly annoyed.
“You can wait 10 more seconds,” Sirius replied, trying to focus on restraint.
“Shouldn’t have to, selfish fuck.”
“I’m selfish? Who just stood here fucking her without me or James getting-“
“Just fucking get to it,” Remus was losing control by the second.
“That’s what I’m doing, thank you very much.”
“It’s just like you to be cocky while you’re literally sticking your dick in-“
“Well maybe if you stopped fucking distracting me then I-“
“Would you two please shut up and fuck me?” you chimed in.
Sirius was finally bottomed out, and he tested the waters by thrusting only an inch or two at a time. Once he started a normal pace, Remus began his own relentless pace again, barely even acknowledging that Sirius was there.
When Remus thrusted in, jerking you backward, Sirius would take the opportunity to thrust forward as well, the two boys not having to move a ton because you were being tossed between their cocks, the movements giving you makeshift thrusts.
“James,” you said.
He perked up, somewhat shocked that you said his name while sandwiched between his two best friends.
“Yeah?”
“I need you to touch me,” you said.
Remus and Sirius both looked up to acknowledge what was happening, but ended up looking up directly at each other.
They stayed watching each other for a moment, their breaths staggered and their faces glistening from sweat.
Sirius reached past you and grabbed the back of Remus’s head, pulling him in.
Sirius and Remus’s lips collided directly next to you, and the sight of them kissing as they both fucked you almost did you in.
Almost. James approached your other side, not daring to interrupt the hotness of the kiss, and he placed his own soft kiss on your temple.
“You want me to touch you?” he teased.
“Please, Jamie,” you were not above pleading to get what you want.
James ran his hand down your body, which was still bouncing up and down, slowly dragging between your breast area and down your stomach. He stilled just under your skirt’s waistband.
“Ask me for it again,” James said.
“Please touch me, James, I need it so bad.”
His hand moved lower.
“How bad? You need me to make you come?”
“I need it, I wanna come, please Jamie, please.”
“Atta girl,” he said.
He kissed you as he began circling your clit with his finger. You moaned into the kiss, garnering the attention of Sirius and Remus, who breathily pulled away from one another to watch your body react to now being touched.
You leaned back against Sirius, your moans escalating in both frequency and volume.
“Oh m- fuck, I’m gonna come,” you moaned.
Sirius and Remus both began to fuck you harder, but you stopped them quickly.
“No, no, do what you were doing,” you said, “don’t escalate. Fuck me like you were.”
The boys both resumed their previous pace, and you felt the knot begin to form in your stomach.
James applied a slight bit more pressure to your clit, and you knew you were in for it.
“I’m coming, I-“
You came hard, your wetness completely coating Remus’s cock as your orgasm washed over you. It was so intense, likely from your body not being used to men making you come like this, that your legs started to shake. You would have fallen if it weren’t for two boys holding you between them.
James gradually slowed his hand down, kissing you through the orgasm to help calm you down.
Remus couldn’t help himself but join you. He hit your cervix with three brutal thrusts as he allowed himself to come, his head resting on your shoulder as he took a breath.
After you and Remus had calmed down, Sirius pulled out of you, allowing Remus to place you down. You stayed clinging onto Remus, not convinced that your legs would work after being hoisted up for so long.
Sirius had already taken a step back to finish himself off, roaring lowly as he came and painted a brick on the wall white.
That left James, who looked completely pleased and content.
“You didn’t-“
“Oh, I did,” James said, looking down.
You spotted the wet patch between his legs, and realized that James came without any stimulation of his own, but just from watching all of you and doing to you what he did.
Remus finally pulled out of you, stepping back from you and running his fingers through his hair. “Fuck.”
After a few minutes of everyone resetting and catching their breath, it was Sirius who finally asked, “so? Who won?”
“Clearly me,” James said, “she asked me to touch her, and that’s what did her in.”
“I’m sorry, whose cock was hitting her g-spot?” Remus smiled.
“It was the DP that did it, obviously, idiots,” Sirius defended himself.
They all turned to you.
“Tie.”
“No no no, it’s not a fucking tie,” Sirius said, walking back over to you, “which one of us did it for you? You have to pick one.”
“No I don’t,” you shrugged.
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t, Sirius,” you said, “I’m allowed to decide it’s a tie. I’m not in your little competition, I don’t have to follow any rules. It’s a tie.”
“But-“
“You were all fucking me at the same time, what did you expect?”
“So- so who gets whatever the winner gets, then?” James asked.
“All of you, I guess.”
“Yeah? And what do we all get?” Remus asked.
“Well, you all just came, so I guess you gotta wait,” you responded.
James raised his brows. “The prize is a blowjob? From you?”
“Yeah,” you said, “as many as you want, whatever you want with me, whenever you want, yeah.”
Remus smirked. Sirius chuckled and smiled wide, and James was still in disbelief.
Summary:During Potions class, Theodore’s friends notice your initials written in ink on his wrist — and realize he absentmindedly wrote them there himself. Unfortunately for him, the teasing only gets worse when Slughorn overhears.
Ink splattered across Theodore’s fingers every single day.
Nobody questioned it anymore.
Between essays, Quidditch strategies, and the endless notes he pretended not to care about, his hands were almost always stained black or dark blue. It was normal.
What wasn’t normal was the fact that halfway through Potions, Enzo suddenly grabbed his wrist across the table.
Theo looked up instantly. “What?”
Enzo stared at him for a long moment before his mouth twitched.
“Oh, this is tragic.”
Theo narrowed his eyes. “You’re irritating even when you’re quiet.”
“No,” Enzo said slowly, turning Theo’s arm slightly toward the light. “You’re just embarrassingly obvious.”
Theo frowned.
Mattheo leaned over next, immediately bursting into laughter loud enough for half the class to look over.
“There’s actually no way.”
Theo finally looked down at his wrist.
Written in dark ink, right beneath the sleeve of his uniform, were your initials.
Not messy.
Not accidental-looking.
Carefully written.
Like he’d traced them there absentmindedly during class.
Silence.
Then—
“Oh my God,” Mattheo wheezed. “You’re gone. Completely gone.”
Theo yanked his sleeve down immediately. “Shut up.”
“You wrote her initials on yourself.”
“I did not.”
“You literally did,” Enzo said. “That is your handwriting.”
Theo stared at the potion in front of him like he wanted to drown in it.
Because the worst part?
It was his handwriting.
He remembered exactly when he’d done it too — late in History of Magic while half-asleep, listening to you whisper answers beside him.
Summary:Theodore lets a teammate borrow his broom, accidentally exposing the ribbon you tied onto it. His friends immediately realize he’s far more lovesick than he pretends to be.
The first sign something was wrong should’ve been the fact Theodore Nott willingly let someone touch his broom.
That alone was unnatural.
The second sign came five minutes later when Mattheo nearly fell off the equipment bench laughing.
“What,” Theo said flatly, tightening the straps on his gloves. “What is wrong with you?”
Mattheo held up the broom like he’d discovered buried treasure.
Tied neatly beneath the polished handle was a thin ribbon in your house colors.
Not Slytherin green.
Your colors.
The entire locker room went silent for exactly one second before chaos erupted.
cw: 18+ mdni, dark content, heavy forced fauxcést, Older!Price, kinda needy!reader, cowgírł, overstím, nípple play/lâctatíon, very brief mentions of undiagnosed mental illness (at beginning), use of Pa/Dad/Daddy (idgaf), established relationship.
It’s a good day, which means Price is feeling- well, better than his usual self. He’s usually the brooding and quiet figure, strict with order, all knowing— the hermit in tarot.
But today’s different. Softer, more laughter, understanding.
Which really means, it’s your ‘get out of jail free’ card. You could rob 3 banks back to back if you wanted to, and John would drive shot gun. On good days like today, John is so relaxed and kind— happiness that’s completely written on his face and not just in his eyes. It’s the raw authentic joy. And really you could’ve wrecked havoc, but you chose peace. Let John sit and relax while he went around the house like a madwoman, fed, cleaned and changed the baby, cleaned the living room, helped John move some boxes (he can’t sit still for too long), made lunch and dinner—
You were the exact good girl John expects of you, everyday, which you usually are.
You’ve been eyeing him like a piece of your favorite cake in the bakery in town, it’s adorable really. Catching your look before your scurry off, can practically see the smile you’re trying so hard to hide, heat radiating off your skin.
“Told you it’s bad t’stare, didn’t I buttercup?” He asks smoothly, eyes closed, as he leans back on the recliner. You gasp, turning your head and nervously rubbing your legs, “M sorry pa.”
He hums, taking a drag of the big cigar between his fingers, “What’dyou want kiddo?”
Your heart leaps out of your chest, still not used to the feeling, you bite the inside of your lip, “Can I- can I take the lead today?”
On a normal day, it’s a no. You always need help, always end up crying and needing help- direction. But John can’t say no to you, not today when you’ve been so good, made Dad’s favorite for dinner, and were looking at him with those big brown hopeful for eyes. It was as if the word escaped his vocabulary.
He feels the end of his lips twitch, smoking entering the air, he motions for you to come over with his hand, leaning back, “Let’s see what y’got buttercup.”
It’s like you’d prepared yourself for the moment, your pussy already stretched to take him, straddling him as you pull his plaid pajamas down, thick and veiny member springing out and slapping against his stomach. You lip your lips, bringing yourself closer, eyes meeting his, “‘S okay Pa, I-I got it.”
You lay one hand flat on his chest, other hand guiding him into your awaiting hole. It’s a tight fit, always is, has you hiccuping as you try for best to fuck yourself down Price’s dick. Wet squelches as you take every inch, gasping for air. Price’s jaw is tight, hand resting on your hip, as he tries everything in him not to buck his hips up into you. The cigar is burning over the ash tray, “Hah- gotta take it easy lovie.”
You quickly nod but only a moan falls from your lip, the burn of him stretching you out rolling over you. You’re eyebrows are knit together, shimming your hips down to you feel his mushroom tip hard and pressed against your soppy walls. John only grunts, spreading your legs a little wider to see the ungodly view, your cunt fluttering and clutching his girth like a vice down to his pubic hair. He gives you a smirk, bring the cigar to his lips, “Good work princess, took it all on your own.”
You can’t help but blush, walls pulsing around him once, you bat your lashes, keening, “Thanks Daddy.”
You use his chest for leverage, slowly lifting yourself up and down, how your face gets screwed up in pleasure with every bounce, your fat tits in his face, nipple hard and staining the shirt.
He tugs your pale blue nightie off with one hand, milk dripping onto him as he watches your every curve of you, fully nude now, letting out a deep groan while he hand gropes your tit, “Fuck buttercup, feed ‘em to me.”
Your breath hitches, blushing, “But Pa- nngh!” you whine out, rolling your hips back then forward, snug cunt dragging his cock with you, “‘s embarrassin.”
“Mm mmm, not embarrassing when it’s for your old man,” he drags you closer by his beefy arm, pressing his face in your chest, mouth watering as he nibbles right above your areola. “ ‘M starved baby. Won’t have too much, shit- promise.”
You’re desperate for more, more more, guide him to your right nipple, letting him wrap his tongue around your hardened peak. You go weak, hands going through his greying brunette hair as he sucks and licks your tit, drinking every bit of milk he can. Price finally sets his cigar down on the ash tray, hand flat on you back as to make sure you stay close to him. Let him tug your nipple between his teeth, other hand making sure you keep that steady rhythm, giving your sensitive bud wet suckles. Every bounce of your pussy on him only getting better, your body trembling, crying out, “Shit- Pa- anngh! Pa!”
Johns fingers tweak your other nipple, milk squirting out, he gripping your chin between his fingers and planting your lips on his coated lips. You can taste your own milk on his tongue, letting him suck your tongue, lips smacking with every filthy wet kiss. You wrap your arms around the older man’s hairy broad shoulders, hips stutter, croaking out a moan as you hit your high. Your foreheads pressed against each other, trying to catch your breath but John sits you down, hips connecting.
He’s got that smug look on his face, “Still haven’t cum sweetheart.”
He shouldn’t have teased you like that. Especially after you worked up all the courage to ride him.
The problem only starts after you drawls out that second orgasm Price knew he was in for it, brown eyes glazed over, bottom lip jutted out, hips somehow only getting faster, hungrier. His member only making it half way out as you throw your ass in a circle, over and over, hypnotic even from front. Your cunts filled to the brim with his thick cum, a ring of cream at the base of cock as you slam yourself down.
You’re blabbering at how good you feel, how warm his cum feels inside your swollen folds, tears down your face, taking his calloused hands and letting them roam your body, your face to your chest, your stomach where he can feel himself pressed against your womb, to the perfect fat of your ass that jiggles with every bounce.
He chokes when you throb so tightly around him, hand lazily giving your ass a smack, “Shit buttercup, ah- slow down!”
“But Pa,” you keen, rolling your hips against him that makes him throw his head back against the recliner, “Y- mmm! You said I could take the lead!”
You’ve already fucked yourself dumb on him, using your old man like a damn dildo, John’s red to his ears, delirious in the soaking and gushing confines of your pussy while you fuck him silly. His eyes roll back in his head when he feels you swivel your hips just right, cocktip slobbering your walls.
“D-does it feel good for you dad? Angh- want you to feel gooood pa. Please” You tilt your head to adorably lust in your eyes, hopeful, desperate.
You hear your old man let out a whimper, a strangled grunt, he grips your hips hard enough to bruise, blue eyes low, “Always- fuuuck darlin- always felt good. Hck- So good f’me buttercup.”
The praise immediately going to head your pussy, moaning frantically trying your peak. Crying out as John gives you sloppily pumps himself up into you. Groans and moans filling the living room, till you’re both cumming and hard. It’s so warm in your stomach has you mewling just from the white substance being buried deep inside your velvety walls. 
You finally lift yourself up, globs of cum dribbling down Price softening cock, his shaft spurting out cum. “Shit honey.”
You’re sticky all over, letting John pull your tired body into his arms, he lets out a tired breath. Kissing your temple, “Good work buttercup, made Pa proud.”
a/n: hey lol, lmk what you think. I too want older!Price sucking my shits.
neighbor!simon riley and the mundane tasks he does to make things easier for you
when you first moved in, you were wary of the big, brute of a man that lived next door. you'd seen him, for the first time, taking his trash to the end of his driveway for the garbage truck to pick up while movers lugged boxes and furniture inside your house. he spared a single glance, offering a nod at your small wave before retreating into his house.
you thought that was that.
for weeks, you lived without any interaction. settling into your new home, coming back and forth between the hardware store and your house for new projects. taking out your trash before you go to work. you'd seen him take out his own trash once, but you watched from your window, so he never noticed.
you felt weird doing it. watching the thick muscles of his biceps flex against his filled out sleeve, dusting his veiny hands on his jeans before adjusting his balaclava. you wondered why he wore it, but you moved on. you'd likely never interact.
until a couple weeks later, you had arrived home with new groceries. a lot of them. it would take multiple trips that would make your arms ache.
you barely opened your trunk when a dark mass appaeared at your side. you gasp in surprise, head craning. damn, he was taller than you thought.
without a word, he reached in and grabbed at least ten grocery bags with ease. it didn't even seen to bother him as he carried it into your garage and to the door. he didn't struggle to open the door, inviting himself in and leaving you dumbfounded.
what the hell?
the next time his weird behavior manifested was when you were at work. you got a notification from your doorbell camera about some movement, expecting a salesperson or jehovah's witness. instead it was your neighbor—the one who's name you still don't have.
he carried a tackle box, and you were about to speak to ask what he was doing when something compelled you to just watch. he seemed to take apart something on your porch, taking and replacing a piece of the light before screwing it back. he left without a word.
when you got home, your porch lights shined brighter than before—they were dim and on the verge of burning out. why would he do that?
you wanted to confront him, but you appreciated these small things. he still appeared out of thing air to take your groceries in, leaving before you could thank him.
he even started pulling out your bin for you, sitting it at the end of the driveway and dragging it back to the garage when the truck came by.
it perplexed you. why was he doing this for you? did he do it for his other neighbors? he had to, you couldn't be that special.
so you continued living life, welcoming the small actions as they made everything easier. besides, you enjoyed the company, even if he never said a word to you or looked in your direction.
the first time you approached him was on the drive home when a light appeared on your car's dashboard. you had no clue what it meant, though you probably should've. when you arrived home, you debated taking it straight to the autoshop, but instead you tried your luck with your neighbor. he likes to help, so you're guessing he wouldn't mind.
with a soft knock to his front door, you stood waiting patiently, and wait you did. a few minutes later, you contemplated turning back because he wasn't answering the door despite being home (his car was in the driveway).
just as you turned, the front door creaked open, revealing your neighbor clad in nothing but a white towel around his waist, balaclava shoved on haphazardly. his chest glistened with water as it glifed down his skin. oh fuck.
you could barely keep your eyes off his toned chest, abs flexing under your gaze before they snapped back to meet his dark ones. he lifted his brow in question.
"uh, hi." you said awkwardly, rocking on your feet. you hadn't even properly introduced yourself to the man, mostly because he disappeared so quick that you didn't have the chance. "a light came on in my car, and I was wondering—"
the door shut mid-sentence. it left you dumbfounded, mouth hanging open in shock as you stare at the door like it may open again. maybe his generous actions ended at bringing the groceries in. maybe he didn't want to get dirty after just showering. you couldn't expect the man to be ready to help any time you needed it.
after a minute of contemplation, you turned to walk back down the path. you'd have to get it to the mechanics and figured out how much it'd cost you.
when you reached the last step, the door opened again. still shirtless but now looping a belt around his jeans, he walked out, bare feet padding on the concrete. he nodded to your house, signaling you to lead.
you lead him back, hand him your keys and let him do his thing because now you get a free show. his muscles flex as he works under the hood, dirtying himself in a way that's sinful. after a while working in the hot sun, you go inside and bring back a drink, which he gratefully accepts—still without saying anything.
he's a bit weird, refusing to talk to you, but he's fixing your car so you can't complain.
"is this your official uniform to fix all your single neighbor's cars?" the words slip out before you can stop them. mortification warms your face, but it forces a deep chuckle from your neighbor, whose eyes crinkle under his mask.
he glances up at you, dirt smearing his skin. "only the pret'y ones."
your heart flutters. his voice was deep, gruff, like he smoked cigarettes, but it was satisfying to hear.
"so you do talk." you tease whilst biting back a smile. you'd finally gotten words out of him. a small victory. "what's your name?"
"simon."
"really? you look like a greg."
he shakes his head with a smile and continues working, leaving the two of you in silence. what you don't know is that simon's heart is nearly pounding out of his chest. it's beating so hard, he's worried he'll break a rib.
simon has been working up the courage to say anything to you every time he helps you, nervous as hell to talk to his pretty neighbor who he likes to help. hell go home and think about that interaction for days—or until you ask for his help again.
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